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The Meredith -* 

Marriage 

By Harold Payne, 

Author of ‘‘A Queen of Finesse,” etc« 

ILLUSTRATED BY WARREN B. DAVTS. 


Klillll'K 

No. 125, NEW YORK s 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONSj 
Publishers. 


A New Novel, 


At a Great Cost. 

BY 

Effie Adelaide Rowlands, 

Author of ''Little Kit^^ "My Pretty Jane^' etc. 


With Illustrations by Harry C. Edwards. 


12ino. 348 Pag-es. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 
Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


At a Great Cost ” is a novel of the same popular character as 
“Molly Bawn,” by The Duchess. It is thoroughly interesting 
as a story. Every reader will be delighted with it. The young 
English girl who is the heroine is like Wordsworth’s “ Dora,” 

A creature not too Bright or good 
For human nature’s daily food. 

A lovely and charming woman who fills the ideal oT a sweetheart 
and bride, and the pleasant beginning raises expectations in the 
reader which are not disappointed in the conclusion. We re- 
commend it to all novel readers. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent postpaid 
on receipt of price by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


**Tlie Wholesome Educator of Millions." 


1895 

Semi-Centennial Volume 



For Fifty Years the leading Illustrated National Famfly 
Weekly Paper of America. 


CONTRIBUTORS OF THE “LEDGER:** 

The following gives only a partial list of the distinguished writ- 
ers who will contribuje to the Ledger during 1894 : 


Edward Everett Hale, 

Mrs. Ballington Booth, 
George Kennan, 

Mary Lowe Dickinson, 
Hjalmar H. Boyeson, 

Helen Campbell, 

John Habberton, 

Washington Gladden, D. D., 
Mrs. M. A. Kidder, 

Eben E. Rexford, 

Elizabeth Olmis, 

E. A. Robinson, 


Hon. James Bryce, 

Olive Thorne Miller, 

Mary Kyle Dallas, 

Mrs. N. S. Stowell, 
Theodore Roosevelt, 

Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth, 
S. P. Cadman, 

Hon. Thomas Dunn English, 
E. Werner, 

Helen V. Greyson, 

Dr. Charles C. Abbott, 

Prof. Felix L. Oswald. 


A Four- Dollar Paper for Only TWO Dollars. 

! Our Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter and Fourth-of-July 
I Numbers, with beautifully illuminated covers, will be sent witb- 
j out extra charge to all our subscribers. 

SUBSCRIPTION PRICE, $2 A YEAR. 

Free Specimen Copies on Application, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, Publishers, 

Cor. WtlUam and Spruce Sts., New York. 


A Woman’s Book. 


The House by the River. 


BY 

Barbara Kent. 


With Illustrations by Warren B. Davis. 


12mo. 328 Pa«es. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


“ The House by the River” iaa woman’s book from beginning 
to end. It is an interesting novel, with the principal scenes in 
the city of New York and in familiar localities. In the opening 
of the story there is a strong dramatic recital of events upon 
which the plot hinges, and which give a deep and thrilling inter- 
est to the development of the romance of tw^o young lives. The 
vindictiveness of a man who has been compelled to do right under 
humiliating circumstances gives a strong motive to the whole 
action of the story. Every reader will be gratified by the way in 
which the conclusion is reached. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent postpaid 
on receipt of price by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 



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THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE 




51 jX'odcI. 


BY 


HAROLD PAYNE, 

Author o/ A Queen of Finesse, etc., etc. 



WTTK ILLUSTRATIONS BY WARREN B. BAVTS. 


NEW YOKK: 

ROBERT BONNER’S 

PUBLISHERS. 






J* 


.,^pX 

JUL 5 1895 

A<? 


A, 


SONS, 


t>p 



CHOICE SERIES ! ISSUED MONTHLY. SUBSCRIPTION PRICE, SIX DOLLARS PER ANNUM. NO. 125, 
JULY 1, 1896. ENTERED AT THE NEW YORK, N, Y., POST OFFICE AS SECOND CLASS MAIL MATTER. 



COPYRIGHT, 1895, 

BY BOBERT BONNER’S SONS. 


(All rights reserved.) 


PRESS OF 

THE NEW YORK LEDGER 
NEW YORK. 



THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


CHAPTER I, 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 


^ONG the vSteep, rugged and winding road that 



leads up from the “ Brothers Bridge,” slowly 


1 IL and painfully toiled an old-fashioned road-wagon, 
drawn by a span of fat, sleek and lazy horses, and occu- 
pied by an old gentleman and a young lady. The sun 
was just sinking behind the distant hills, touching the 
tops of the trees and foliage with a little deeper tinge 
of crimson, a little richer orange, or a little brighter 
gold than the lavish brush of autumn had bestowed. 
And its rays kissed the young girl’s pink cheeks, shim- 
mered in the gold of her rich, auburn hair and lit up 
the old man's pallid face and silvery locks. 

The old gentleman was engaged in relating the ac- 
count of some interesting incident, while the girl was 
listening with the eagerness peculiar to a young and 
romantic soul, punctuating the narrator’s discourse at 
intervals with a question. 

Yes, it must be about twenty years,” said the 


[ 7 ] 


8 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


story-teller, “ since the tragedy, which gave the old 
bridge and the neighborhood hereabouts the name of 
‘ Brothers Bridge,’ occurred/’ 

“ Oh, tell me about it, papa !” implored the eager 
girl. “ How did it happen ?” 

“ Well,” pursued the father, “ it was like this : Two 
brothers came from Tennessee and settled in the 
neighborhood, and although they were not only 
brothers but twins, and resembled each other so 
closely that one was frequently mistaken for the other, 
they were deadly enemies. In fact, they belonged to 
one of those families in Ea.sterri Tennessee which 
have for years been engaged in those deadly ven- 
dettas. I do not remember, if I ever knew, how two 
brothers of the same family happened to have taken 
different sides in the quarrel, but such is not an un- 
usual occurrence, and these two brothers hated each 
other with that intensity of ardor which can only ex- 
ist between blood relations. It appears that one of 
them had left his native State for the sole purpose of 
escaping the persecutions of his enemies, but whether 
the other followed his example for a like reason, or 
for the purpose of keeping up the feud, I do not know. 
At all events, the one was no more than settled upon 
a farm which he had purchased in the neighborhood, 
when the other arrived, purchased a farm adjoining 
that of the first, and from that moment the vendetta 
was renewed. For years the once peaceful community 
was disturbed and kept in a state of horror by the mu- 
tual persecutions of these two men and their families, 
until the peaceable citizens began to talk seriously of 
ridding the neighborhood of these odious neighbors. 
But, somehow, they never took any decided action, and 
the vendetta continued. 

“ At length, one day, the two brothers met, unexpect- 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


9 


edly, on the bridge we have just crossed. Each was 
wrought up to the most intense fury at the sight of the 
other, and, without a word, dismounted from the horse 
he was riding, and the two brothers engaged in a deadly 
combat with knives. Nobody knows how long it lasted, 
but when they were found, several hours later, one of 
the brothers was dead and the other seriously wounded, 
and they were entwined in each other’s embrace, as they 
probably had been in their innocent infancy, except 
that this last embrace was inspired by hatred.” 

“ Did the wounded man die ?” interrogated the girl. 

No,” rejoined her father, “he ultimately recov- 
ered.” 

“ What became of him ?” 

“The sentiment was so strong against him that he 
was obliged to sell out and leave the neighborhood, and 
nobody ever knew what became of him. The family 
of the murdered man, still remained, however ; but as 
the sons grew up, they also wandered off, the girls 
married, and the mother finally died. A very strange 
thing connected with the affair was the fact that the 
first-born, a son, of each of the twin brothers, was born 
on the same day, and each son was given the same 
Christian name, and bore such a striking resemblance 
to each other that it was almost impossible to distin- 
guish one from the other,” 

“ What was the name of the family, papa ?” 

“ Livingstone.” 

By this time they had reached the top of the hill, 
where stood an old-fashioned wayside inn, and the 
team, from long custom, turned instinctively towards 
the gate. 

“ We may as well stop here and get supper,” observed 
the old gentleman, allowing the team to take its course. 
“ A couple of hours' rest for ourselves and the horses, 


10 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


and a good supper, will fortify us for the remainder of 
the tedious journey, and we still shall have plenty of 
time to catch the midnight train.” 

Fat, jolly landlord Burton, a waddling, wheezing 
compound of smiles and hospitality, had espied them 
from a distance and met them at the gate. 

“ Well, well, well. Squire Meredith !” he wheezed. 
“ And the — the — little lady — ” 

This is my daughter Florence,” interposed the old 
gentleman. 

“ So it is, so it is !” chuckled the fat landlord. How 
she has growed, and how beautiful she has got to be ! 
Bless my soul, but she’ll be a-breakin’ some feller’s 
heart afore long ! Bless my soul and body ! But git 
down an’ come in ! Do !” 

And with that, the jolly old fellow bustled about, 
called out all the help, from the pudgy little kitchen- 
maid to the tall, lank and cadaverous stable-boy, to 
assist in getting the distinguished guests and their 
team housed. 

Florence was shown to the best room in the house 
to make her toilet for supper, which, the landlord as- 
sured his guests, would soon be ready, while the two 
men went into the common-room for a chat before the 
evening meal. They had been boys together, attend- 
ing the same district school, and, while their ways of 
life had drifted widely apart — the one having gone to 
college and fitted himself for the profession of medi- 
cine, which his ample wealth prevented him from fol- 
lowing, while the landlord had never advanced beyond 
the calling of a country tavern-keeper — yet they had 
always remained warm friends, and were always glad 
to meet and have a talk over old times. This was their 
mutual object when they entered the common-room ; 
but, haply, the first question propounded by the 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


11 


landlord turned the conversation in another direc- 
tion. 

“ Which way might ye be a-goin’, Wilkins ?” he in- 
quired, as soon as they were seated. 

“To the railway station at Jonesboro,” replied the 
other. 

“ Goin’ off to the city to spend the winter, I expect ?” 

“ No. The fact is, John,” pursued Mr. Meredith, 
“ Florence is going to be married.” 

“ Dew tell !” exclaimed the landlord, with a surprised 
countenance. 

“ You see,” the other hastened to explain, “ she was 
betrothed to a young man whom we met in Europe 
last season. He lives in New York, and, while he is. 
comparatively poor, he belongs to one of the oldest and 
best families, and is himself noble, manly, and ex- 
tremely talented. He is, in short, an artist of more 
than ordinary promise.” 

The landlord shook his head dubiously. 

“Bad business, Wilkins,” he murmured. “Can’t 
never tell how these chaps ’ll turn out. He may do 
well, and then ag’in he mayn’t ; and that would be a 
sorry prospect for a gal like Florence, who ’s alius been 
used to lugzoory.” 

“ Oh, as to the matter of money,” laughed Meredith, 
“ have no uneasiness on that score, John: My fortune 
will all - go to Florence, anyway ; and if her husband 
should fail to make a living — although I do not doubt 
that he will — they will have plenty. She is sincerely 
in love with him, and I believe him to be a man who 
can make her happy, and that is the main point. I 
know him to be a gentleman, and shall allow her to have 
her own way. I know too well myself the misery of 
enforced marriages to try to coerce my own daughter 
in the matter.” 


12 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


“ I reckon ye do, Wilkins. I reckon ye do. You ’d 
’ai’ been a happier man if ye ’d V married t’ other gal. 
But how is it ye be a-goin’ on to meet him, instead o’ 
him a-comin’ on here ?” 

“ This is a matter entirely between ourselves, John,” 
rejoined Meredith, after some reflection, for he knew 
the landlord’s weakness for gossiping, “ and must go 
no further.” 

“ Oh, I wouldn’t say nuthin’ ’bout it for the world,” 
vowed old John. “ Whutever ye tell me goes no furder, 
depend upon it.” 

“ The fact is,” resumed the old gentleman, “ as I told 
you, my prospective son-in-law is poor, and cannot 
afford the display which would be expected of him if 
he came on here, and is also too proud to accept assist- 
ance from me for the present. So we have agreed to 
meet him in New York, where they will be married in 
a quiet way, and for the present the matter will be kept 
a secret. The neighbors suppose she is simply going 
off to spend a few months with some friend in the city.” 

At this juncture the supper-bell rang, and the instinct 
of the host superseding everything else, the landlord 
arose and conducted his guest into the dining-room, 
where he was soon joined by his daughter, and they 
sat down to a plain but substantial repast. 

Florence was a tall, symmetrically formed woman, 
with every curve just what an artist would dream but 
could never imitate, and every line^a line of beauty. 
Her face was of rare spirituelle^ almost ethereal mold, 
with just sufficient blending of a more voluptuous strain 
to give the lips a ruddier tinge and a slightly sensuous 
curl, and the deep-sea blue of her eyes a more passion- 
ate luster than they would otherwise have pos- 
sessed. Her hair, which was almost phenomenally 
luxuriant, was a deep, lustrous auburn, and her com- 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


13 


plexion that delicate pink and white which usually 
accompanies such hair. Clad as she was in a neatly 
fitting travelling-dress, there was something bewilder- 
ing in her beauty as she glided into the dining-room 
and seated herself beside her father. 

They had a table to themselves, and the room was 
empty when they entered, except for two gentlemen 
who sat at a table on the opposite side. The two 
strangers were evidently deeply impressed — even 
startled — at the appearance of the beautiful girl in this 
out-of-the-way place, and stared at her with the wonder 
and admiration they might have done at a celestial be- 
ing. Indeed, so ardent and persistent was their scru- 
tiny that the girl became annoyed, and changed her 
position to avoid their gaze. And yet she could not 
help taking a good deal of interest in the strangers on 
account of their appearance, which was as much out of 
place at this wayside inn as her own. 

One was a tall man, evidently past the meridian of 
life, with gray hair and beard and a complexion of that 
excessively dark olive only to be encountered along the 
pampas of South America or the keys of Florida, and 
eyes as black as the sloe. His companion was his very 
antithesis in everything except height. He was also 
tall and possessed a magnificent athletic figure, a fair 
complexion, blue eyes and amber-colored hair, which 
curled about his temples in true artistic clusters. In- 
deed, he was what almost any woman would call a 
very handsome man, and was not more than twenty- 
five years old. 

The older man wore an expression of settled melan- 
choly peculiar to men who have seen much of the 
world and have been disappointed in what they found ; 
while his companion’s face w^as ever wreathed in smiles, 
as though he looked upon life as a perpetual comedy. 


14 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


When Florence had shifted her position so that the 
strangers could no longer ogle her, she pretended to 
forget their presence and entered into conversation 
with her father concerning her future. 

“ Why do you consider it unlikely, papa,” she began, 
“ that Sydney will meet us at Jonesboro ?” 

“ From the uncertain tone of his telegram,” rejoined 
her father. “ He said ‘ if possible,’ which he would not 
have said if there had been no question about his com- 
ing. In my letter in reply to his, in which he proposed 
coming on and returning with us, simply for the pur- 
pose of relieving the tedium of the journey, I mentioned 
that it would be a loss of time as well as a waste of 
money to do so, and he may have come to the same 
conclusion. You know he told us that every moment 
was precious to him until he had completed his picture 
for the Exhibition ?” 

“ I remember,” mused Florence, staring reflectively 
into space. “ Nevertheless, I should think he might 
spare that much time — if he — ” 

The girl stopped suddenly, and a crimson flush man- 
tled her beautiful features. Her father studied her 
face for a second or two and seemed a trifle perplexed. 

“ What !” he ejaculated at last ; “ doubting already, 
my daughter ? Tut, tut ! This will never do.” 

Florence’s eyes drooped, and she made no attempt at 
an answer. Her father also remained silent, meanwhile 
glancing about the room for the first time since enter- 
ing it. There had been several fresh arrivals, and he 
glanced at each face in turn, with the carelessness of one 
who has no other object than idle curiosity ; but when' 
he encountered at last the piercing gaze of the dark 
gentleman, he was slightly startled. He also grew a 
trifle uneasy at the manner in which the stranger eyed 
Florence. He refrained from communicating his 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


15 


thoughts to her, however, and, assuming a cheerful 
countenance, resumed conversation. But he had 
scarcely done so, when a servant approached the table 
and handed him a card on which was engraved : 


SYDNEY PARKINSON. 
ARTIST. 

New York. 


Mr. Meredith glanced at the card with a puzzled ex- 
pression,* and then handed it to his daughter, with the 
remark : 

“Your heart seems to have been a better criterion 
than my judgment, my dear.” 

Then turning to the attendant, he said : 

“ Show the gentleman in.” 

The attendant withdrew, and the old gentleman 
turned again to his daughter, whom he found with her 
eyes riveted on the card, while a deep crimson flame 
burned in her face. 

“ This is rather an unexpected pleasure, eh, my 
dear ?” he said, smiling and chafing his hands. 

Florence nodded affirmatively, without removing her- 
eyes from the card. 

“ I wonder,” she faltered, “ how he thought of com- 
ing on here !” 

“ I cannot tell. Possibly he came on an earlier train 
than he anticipated, and, not finding us at the station, 
concluded to come on and surprise us. But we need 
not speculate on the matter any further, for here he is 
to answer for himself.” 



CHAPTER II. 

A STRANGE WEDDING. 

As tlie old gentleman spoke, a tall, handsome young 
man bounded into the room, and, after glancing about 
hesitatingly for a moment, curiously approached the 
table where our friends sat. Meredith was too much 
excited'to notice the newcomer’s diffidence, and spring- 
ing, from his chair, grasped him warmly by the hand. 

“ How are you, my boy !” he cried exuberantly. 
“ Sit down.” 

Parkinson stammered some sort of response to the 
very hbspitable welcome, for it was evident that he 
was greatly embarrassed, and then hastened to salute 
Florence and grasp her proffered hand. But somehow 
there was a formality about his greeting, in spite of an 
obvious effort on his part to appear cordial and gra- 
cious, that sent a chill to the girl’s heart. What could 
it mean ? she asked herself. Had some terrible change 
come over him since they had last met ? Surely this 
was not the impetuous lover who had poured out his 
tale of love in such burning, passionate tropes, as they 
strolled along the romantic Danube, climbed the vine- 
clad Johannisberg or rowed upon Leman’s blue waters, 
as to carry the heart by storm ! 

[i6] 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


17 


The old gentleman saw nothing of it, however, and, 
having got his prospective son-in-law seated, resumed : 

“ This is indeed an unexpected pleasure, my boy ! 
Now tell us, before you allow another minute to elapse, 
how you came to drive on here instead of awaiting us 
at the station, as we expected you would.” 

Parkinson had some difficulty in overcoming his agi- 
tation sufficiently to reply at once, but, after a short 
struggle, as it seemed, he gained the mastery of his 
emotions enough to say : 

“ It was due entirely to a mistake in the time of the 
arrival of trains, sir. I might have taken a train which 
left New York two hours later, and it would have 
landed me at the little station over here in plenty of 
time ; but, as it was, I found myself put down at the 
stupid place, at least, two hours ahead of the time at 
which you were expected, and I had the alternative of 
waiting there or driving out to meet you. I chose the 
latter.” 

“ But how did you know that we would be here, my 
boy ?” 

“ I did not. Having come this far without meeting 
you, and concluding that you had been delayed by some 
cause, I decided to stop here for supper and drive on 
to your house afterward. I made myself known to the 
stout individual outside, and asked him to have some of 
his help look out for you and warn me in case of your 
passing along the road. But the instant he discovered 
who I was, he volunteered the information, not only 
that you were here, but that I was to wed your 
daughter.” 

“Just like honest, gossipy old John,” laughed Mere- 
dith. “ It has not been half an hour since I confided 
the fact to him, charging him not to reveal it to a 
living soul, which he f^Qiemnly promised to obey, and 


18 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


now he lets it out to the first person that comes along. 
Everybody in the community will know it inside of a few 
hours. But tell us, what is your plan for the future ? 
Return to-night or remain here over night and go over 
in the morning ?” 

The young man hesitated, meanwhile glancing tenta- 
tively at Florence and coloring a little. 

“ I have a plan,” he at length faltered. “ I do not 
know what you and Florence will think of it. You will 
probably consider it rash and impractical.” 

“ What is it, my boy ?” demanded Meredith, eagerly. 
“We are ready to consider any plan which may be 
most agreeable and convenient to you, eh, Florry ?” 

The girl nodded affirmatively, but a vague shadow 
of regret belied the action. But her father in his 
eagerness failed to notice it, and turned to Parkinson 
for the answer. 

“ My plan,” pursued the latter, “ although, as I say, 
it may not meet your approval, was to — to go to some 
minister (I suppose you know of one near here) and — 
and have the ceremony performed, after which Flor- 
ence and I could take the train for New York.” 

“ A capital idea !” declared the old gentleman, enthu- 
.siastically. “We shall do that the first thing in the 
morning, and that will give Florry’s mother a chance 
to witness the ceremony. You see, she wasn’t well 
enough to travel as far as New York, but I ’ll warrant 
she’ll make out to get as far as the chapel.” 

“ Pardon my apparent parsimony of time,” interposed 
Parkinson, glancing furtively at Florence, “ but I must 
get back to the city as soon as possible. The picture 
upon which I am engaged must be done against the 
opening of the Exposition, and every minute counts.” 

Mr. Meredith glanced at his daughter, and, although 
ber eyes were fixed upon the table, he could not but 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


19 


remark the shadow of regret or repugnance or some- 
thing — he did not know exactly what — but it sent a dull 
sort of pang, somewhat resembling remorse, tingling 
to his heart, and he felt that perhaps he was not doing 
right. But he quickly banished the thought when he 
recalled how devotedly she had professed to love the 
young artist, and responded : 

“Well, I presume there will be no objection to that 
plan, if Florence has none — and I presume she hasn’t. 
Although, for my own part, I would rather, inasmuch 
as we are so near, that her mother could be present. 
If the plan meets with Florry’s approval, though, I 
shall offer no opposition, owing to your hurry to get 
back to your work. What do you say, my child ?” 

Florence did not speak or even raise her eyes, while 
a deadly pallor overcast her face and her lips twitched 
painfully. 

“Why, what on earth is the matter, my child?” 
demanded her father, in astonishment. 

The girl strove heroically to make some sort of reply, 
but her tongue appeared to cleave to the roof of her 
mouth. The young man eyed her curiously, but offered 
no suggestion. 

“My dear child,” expostulated her father, “if there 
is the least objection on your part, you needn’t do it. 
We should only do this thing to accommodate Sydney, 
whose time is so precious ; but, of course, we cannot 
forget your comfort. At the same time,” he went on, 
in a more practical tone, after a pause, “you must not 
forget that it is a wife’s first duty to look to the interest 
of her husband, and if I were you, I should begin my 
schooling in that direction by making just this one 
little self-sacrifice at the outset.” 

Florence felt the rebuke keenly, and determined to 
make a heroic effort. She raised her eyes for a brief 


20 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


instant to those of her betrothed, and as quickly 
dropped them again, while a shudder convulsed her 
slender form. Her eyes had refused to tell her what 
her heart proclaimed. Her eyes told her that this 
was the man who, nearly a year ago, at Baden-Baden, 
had won her heart ; but that same heart now refused 
to acknowledge the conquest. Why, she could not tell. 
She was bewildered, confused, angry with herself, and 
finally gave vent to her feelings in a flood of tears. 

Her father was at a loss to account for her conduct, 
and her lover was equally bewildered ; but he treated 
the matter with unaccountable coolness and philosophy. 
And they were both equally perplexed as to what to do 
under the circumstances, so they tacitly decided to do 
nothing at all, and a rather awkward silence followed. 
At the conclusion of the meal — which had begun with 
such hope of pleasure and ended so drearily — the two 
gentlemen withdrew to the common-room, with the 
tacit understanding that it would be better to leave 
the girl to herself for a while. Here they discussed the 
future plans and prospects of the young couple over a 
cigar, and at the end of half an hour rejoined Florence 
in the parlor. 

To their surprise and gratification, her fit of doubt 
and despondency had vanished and given place to her 
usual cheerfulness. 

“ Ah, my dear,” cried her father, “ I am glad to see 
that you have banished your foolish apprehensions and 
become yourself again !” 

Florence smiled and kissed her father affectionately, 
but offered no explanation of her late conduct. She 
still dared not raise her eyes to those of her lover, but 
when he approached her and took her hand in his own, 
she smiled and strove very hard to appear content and 
happy. He, however, was too much a man of the, world 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


21 


not to see the effort it cost her. Assuming- that his 
daughter would offer no further protest against the 
arrangement proposed by Parkinson, the old gentleman 
said : 

“ Now I’ll leave you for a moment and go and see 
the landlord and have him send for a minister.” 

And, without another word, he turned and left the 
room. 

As soon as they were left to themselves Sydney took 
Florence in his arms, and, pressing her closely to his 
heart, murmured in a gentle tone : 

“ Is it possible that my little Florence no longer 
loves me ?” 

The girl struggled with her emotions for a minute 
or so, and at length mastered them sufficiently to 
speak. 

“ No. I still love you, Sydney, devotedly ; but some- 
thing tells me you have changed. You do not seem 
quite the same as when we were together last year. It 
is foolish, I know, but my heart tells me that — that — 
we should not — ” 

She paused and hid her face. 

“ I see,” interposed he. “You were about to say we 
should not get married to-night. Very well. Be it so, 
Florence. Far be it from me to urge you against your 
inclination !” 

And releasing her, he strode away from her across 
the room. 

Then, for the first time, a full realization of her con- 
duct flashed upon her. And in that moment, too, she 
realized how madly she loved the man she had repulsed, 
and how her cruel words must have stung his gentle, 
sensitive soul. She hesitated an instant, and stole a 
glance after the retreating figure, and then her impul- 
sive soul prompted her action. She crept timidly to his 


22 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


side and laid her hand gently upon his arm. Sydney 
turned in his walk and looked down into her upturned, 
beseeching eyes. The cloud vanished from his face, 
his heart bounded with joy, and the next instant the 
lovers were entwined in each other's arms. 

“ Forgive me, Sydney !” sobbed the girl, burying her 
face in his bosom. “ Can you ever forgive your little 
Florence ?" 

“ My own, sweet girl !" exclaimed Sydney. I have 
nothing to forgive. It was all my own fault ! Some 
unaccountable spell came over me when I first beheld 
you in the dining-room, and, for the life of me, I could 
not dispel the feeling of embarrassment and diffidence 
that came over me, and that is why I appeared changed 
to you. But my little Florence no longer doubts me, 
does she ?” 

“ No, no, no ! A thousand times no, Sydney !" 

Her little heart no longer tells her that 1 am not 
the same man with whom she roved the sunny hills of 
France and the vine-clad banks of the Rhine last year ?” 

“ No, no, no, Sydney ! I no longer doubt you ! My 
foolish heart was mistaken, that is all. But — but — you 
were not quite the same, dear, when you first came in 
to-night, and — ” 

“ I know I was not, love,” he interposed, “ and for that 
reason I do not blame you. The fact is, darling, I live 
in such an atmosphere of sordid cynicism in the pro- 
fessional world that it requires an hour or so in your 
sunshine to thaw me out. After spending nearly a year 
among the selfish egotists of the art world, I am not fit 
to come in contact with such a sunny little creature as 
my Florence. I am like one of those white peaks we 
used to gaze at from the heights of Lucerne, all covered 
with frost. And that, above everything else, is the 
reason why I desire to hasten our marriage. I fear 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


23 


that much longer association with the soulless world 
will reduce me to the same condition as the other mem- 
bers of it. With my sunny-hearted little Florence with 
me as an antidote, however, I can defy a world of 
cynicism !” 

“ Oh, how good it is to hear you speak in that way, 
dear Sydney ! It is so like your dear old self. Do you 
know that when we used to go boating on Lake Leman, 
and you would go on, in your beautiful, poetical lan- 
guage, describing how Byron and Shelley had often 
paddled over the same crystal waters, with each soul 
full of song, I used to gaze at you with the same awe 
and admiration that we looked at old Mont Blanc ! 
But," she suddenly broke off, “ you have told me noth- 
ing about your mother. You spoke of her being 
dangerously ill the last time you wrote !” 

Before he had time to reply, the old gentleman burst 
into the room with a glowing face suffused with smiles, 
and announced that everything was in readiness. 

‘‘Just the cutest and most romantic arrangement you 
ever saw !" he declared, rapturously, chafing his hands, 
“ and all the doings of the fat publican whom you were 
inclined to sneer at, Sydney." 

“Indeed?" laughed the young man. “Well, I ant 
surprised to hear of anything romantic emanating from 
his brain ! He is the nearest approach to my idea of 
Falstaff of any one I ever saw off the stage." 

“ Never mind," expostulated Mr. Meredith. “ In spite 
of apparent grossness, the old man has a great, big 
heart, and more romance than you would imagine." 

“ Indeed, I should say that his dimensions permitted 
such a thing. But what is the arrangement, Mr. 
Meredith ?" 

“Why, there is a little chapel buried away among 
the old forest trees across the stream below, and the 


24 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


landlord has made arrangements for the minister to 
meet us there." 

“Just the thing !” declared Sydney, enthusiastically. 
“ What says my little Florence ?” 

For the life of her, the girl could not repress that 
same feeling of dread that had come over her on first 
seeing the artist that night. But with a desperate 
effort she shook it off enough to say, half-heartedly : 

“Yes, that will be splendid, Sydney !" 

Amidst the excitement that followed, the others paid 
little heed to Florence, except in a general way, and 
failed to notice the cloud of regret that hung over her 
features and bespoke the aching, rebellious heart within, 
else probably it would have caused them to pause. Half 
an hour later the party, consisting of the young couple, 
Mr. Meredith, the fat landlord and his wife and one or 
two of the servants, were on their way to the little 
chapel. 



CHAPTER III. 

A VOICE OF WARNING. 

The weather being; delightful, the party chose to walk 
the short distance to the chapel, and set off in pairs. 
Sydney and Florence took the lead, and when they 
were alone once more, he could not help but feel, rather 
than see, that the same fit of doubt which he had no- 
ticed before again oppressed her ; but, instead of allud- 
ing to it this time, he chose what he deemed the wiser 
course of attempting to dissipate it with his own good 
humor. To that end he began a lively conversation, 
full of the glowing reminiscences of their continental 
tour, bubbling with poetry and glittering with imagery. 
To all of which Florence listened with respectful silence 
rather than the breathless interest she had evinced 
upon former occasions. But as they descended the long 
hill leading down to Brothers Bridge, and the soft au- 
tumnal breeze, scented with a thousand woodland 
spices, swept up the river and kissed her fresh, young 
cheek, and the night-bird cooed far in the depths of 
the forest, her despondency vanished somewhat, and she 
experienced a slight thrill of the joy she had felt when 
they walked the star-lit night together long ago, and 
he breathed his devotion for the first time. And when 
she looked up into the star-studded vault of heaven 
and beheld the calm and peace there, it seemed to be a 
cheerful omen of her future, and she was happy. 

[25] 


26 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


As they passed on to the approach of the bridge, the 
recollection of the story her father had told her of 
the tragedy which had occurred there flashed upon 
Florence with vivid horror, and she could not repress 
a shudder. At the same time she imagined she saw a 
figure standing near the railing on one side of the 
bridge and about half-way across. It appeared to be 
partly concealed in a dark patch of shadow, but a ray 
of moonlight glanced across one side of it, bringing 
that portion of it out in bold relief. So it appeared to 
Florence ; but when she called the attention of her 
companion to it, he professed to see nothing and 
laughed at her apprehension. 

“ It is nothing, my dear,” he said, “ but the peculiar 
refraction of the moonlight as it falls against the abut- 
ment of the bridge. My little girl must not be afraid, 
especially as she is with me.” 

“ Oh, I am not afraid,” replied Florence, restraining 
her teeth from chattering with an effort ; “but I am 
sure there is some one there, Sydney.” 

“ And I am just as positive that there is not,” re- 
joined the young man, laughing. “ However, if there 
is, we shall soon see.” 

And they walked on at a brisk pace to the spot where 
the imaginary apparition had been, and, as Sydney had 
predicted, there was no one there. He called her atten- 
tion to the fact, and again laughed at her for her fool- 
ish apprehension. Florence also forced a laugh. And 
the couple sauntered to the opposite side of the bridge, 
where they paused to look down into the swiftly flow- 
ing river, intending to await the approach of the rest 
of the party. But as the others were a long way behind, 
Sydney and Florence had time to become oblivious to 
their surroundings in the dreamy contemplation of the 
receding current. Florence's reverie had not lasted 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


27 


long’, although she had unconsciously wandered a few 
feet from her lover, when she was suddenly awakened 
by something touching her arm gently. She turned, 
and her first impulse was to scream, but as there was 
nothing there except the darkness, her embarrassment 
sealed her lips, and then, before she had time for a 
second thought, there came out of the empty space a 
voice that whispered : 

“ If you value your future happiness, do not go to the 
chapel with this man !" 

Florence was too much frightened for the instant to 
speak, but hastened to the side of her lover, just as the 
balance of the party came up. And then Sydney pro- 
ceeded to tell them about the girl’s imaginary specter, 
which caused them all to laugh very heartily, and she 
felt less inclined to mention the latest incident than 
ever, lest she should be laughed at. And the merri- 
ment that followed prevented any of them from notic- 
ing the mingled pain and terror depicted in the poor, 
agonizing girl’s face, and they walked on over the 
bridge. 

Florence could find no heart to enter into the con- 
versation that followed, and proceeded in silence. Her 
thoughts were busy, however, and by the time she had 
reached the chapel, she had nearly nerved herself up 
to the resolution of objecting to the proceedings. And 
w’^hen they had entered the half-lighted old chapel, 
with its ghostly shadows, which the fluttering candles 
caused to dance and assume the most weird shapes, 
the old feeling of distrust came upon her so strong 
that she could no longer resist it, and determined to 
rebel before it was too late. She called her father aside 
with a view of protesting, but at the last moment her 
courage failed her, and she allowed herself to be led 
to the altar. 


28 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


The minister was already there, and the moment the 
bridal party arrived he began the ceremony. The 
preacher, who was an aged man, spoke in a low, 
solemn tone, which could barely be heard above the 
gentle night-wind, which caused the trees outside to 
sigh weirdly and to rub their impatient old limbs 
against the old church and shake off their russet leaves 
in showers. And all this seemed to be in harmony 
with the rebellious state of the faltering bride’s soul. 
And then when the old minister came to the point 
where he asks the question, “ If any one has aught to 
say why this marriage should not be solemnized,” etc., 
everybody was suddenly startled by a voice emanating 
from no one knew where, saying : 

I forbid the banns / Unless you wish to make this 
hapless girl wretched for life^ this wedding must not 
go on 1" 

The greatest confusion followed. 

The old minister stopped and cast his eyes quickly 
about in search of the objector, and seeing no one ex- 
cept the little group in front of the altar, looked per- 
plexed. Sydney remained inexplicably calm, but Flor- 
ence grew deathly pale and clutched his arm and 
looked around with a terrified face ; while Meredith, 
the landlord and the servants ran outside with a view 
to discovering the owner of the voice. But they soon 
returned without finding him. Whoever the objector 
was, he had made his escape. When this had been re- 
ported, the minister recovered his usual calmness and 
said : 

“ Inasmuch as the objector has not the honesty or 
courage to show his face, we shall not consider his 
protest, and proceed with the ceremony.” 

This incident had the effect of increasing Florence’s 
repugnance to the marriage and her desire to raise her 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


29 


own voice in protest ; but, struggle as she would, she 
could not summon courage to speak, and remained si- 
lent to the end. But when the end came and she real- 
ized that she was a wife against her will, the courage 
which had thus far sustained her suddenly fled, and 
she swooned. 

“ Too much excitement,” suggested the minister. 

“ More like she was skeered at that pesky fool’s 
voice,” interposed the landlord’s wife, as she bent over 
the unconscious girl and proceeded to chafe her hands. 
The good woman also gave orders for such restoratives 
as could be most readily procured. 

In the meantime, in accordance with Mr. Meredith’s 
orders, the team had been hitched to the road-wagon 
and driven up in front of the chapel. 

In the course of half an hour Florence had been re- 
stored to consciousness, and declared herself able to 
travel. She was, therefore, assisted into the vehicle, 
after which her father and her husband took their seats 
and drove away from the chapel. They waited in front 
of the inn long enough to bid farewell to old John and 
his wife, and the fat landlord took occasion to whisper 
to Meredith : 

“ A bad start, mind my words !” 

The old gentleman laughed at his simplicity. 

“Just your superstition, John,” he said. “The fact 
of some mischievous wag calling in at the window 
signifies nothing.” 

“ But the gal’s faintin’ ?” persisted the landlord. 

“ Was nothing unnatural under the circumstances. 
Good-by. Don’t worry over the matter, John, for 
everything will come out right in the end.” 

“ I hope so, I am sure !’" muttered the fat host. 
“ But — ” and he went off shaking his head. 

Florence sat limp and spiritless, supported by her 


30 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


newly-made husband’s arm, upon a back seat, while 
her father sat in front and drove. Sydney bent over 
his bride tenderly and tried, by every art known to him, 
to soothe and comfort her. She strove heroically, and 
succeeded so far as to laugh half-heartedly at his droll 
sayings and witticisms, but she could not muster spirit 
enough to enter into the conversation. Nor could she 
rid herself of her feeling of dread, and kept glancing 
from one side of the road to the other with a terrified 
expression, as if in constant fear of some calamity. She 
would start at every sound or movement at the road- 
side or weird shape produced by the shadows of trees 
and shrubbery, while in her ears constantly rang the 
prophetic warning : ‘‘ If you value your future happi- 
nesSj do fiot go to the chapel with this man 

Her father was too much engrossed, for a long time, 
in Sydney’s spirited discourse to take any note of Flor- 
ence’s depression, but at length, during a temporary 
lull in the conversation, he turned and glanced back at 
her, and was startled by the white, apprehensive face 
of his daughter. 

“ Why, what can be the matter with you to-night, 
Florry ?” he questioned, anxiously. “You are usually 
so talkative and full of spirits ; but to-night you are as 
glum as a deacon. One would think you were going 
to your own funeral instead of upon your wedding- 
tour.” 

“ I do not know, papa,” she responded, feebly. “ I — ” 

But here she lost her voice and courage at one and 
the same time, and lapsed into silence again. 

“ Oh, she will be all right as soon as we get on our 
way East,” predicted Sydney, carelessly. “ My little 
girl is a little depressed over the curious happenings of 
to-night, but she will soon forget all about them, es- 
pecially when she assumes dictatorship of our little 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


31 


flat, which, althoiig-h not expensively, is at least cozily 
fitted up, and, I venture to predict, will please my 
little wife, unless she has lost the artistic taste which 
she used to possess.” 

“ Ah, I almost envy you the happiness in store for 
you in such a cozy nest,” interjected the old gentleman, 
encouragingly. “ But even there you will require 
money, my boy, and — ” 

‘‘ Do not worry on that score, Mr. Meredith,” inter- 
rupted Sydney, with an air of pride. “ I always man- 
age to have enough for all practical purposes, artist 
and bohemian though I am.” 

“ But there may be extra calls upon your resources 
now, my boy, and — ” 

“ In which case,” again interrupted the artist, “ I 
shall have to hustle about and increase my resources, 
that is all.” 

“Just what I was afraid of,” put in the old gentle- 
man, catching at the opportunity, “ and for that very 
reason I shall insist upon your accepting this trifling 
token of my esteem — not as a bounty, mind you, for I 
know you would not accept it as such, but as a token 
of esteem from one friend to another.” 

Here he tendered the young man a well-filled purse. 

“ While I appreciate your kindness, Mr. Meredith,” 
rejoined Sydney, spurning the proffered purse, “I 
really — ” 

“No, but I insist,” urged the other, “and will hear 
to nothing else.” 

The young man still declined the offer, but ulti- 
mately allowed himself to be prevailed upon to accept it. 

While this scene was passing, Florence’s attention 
was drawn in quite another direction. While they 
were passing through a dark piece of wood she heard, 
or imagined she heard, the sound of horses’ hoofs 


3-3 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


behind them, and when they emerged into the moon- 
light her conjecture was confirmed by the appearance 
of two horsemen, who rode out of the wood a short 
distance behind the vehicle. Her father and her hus- 
band took no note of the occurrence, owing to absorp- 
tion in their own affairs, and Florence did not call their 
attention to it for fear of being ridiculed. 

The horsemen must have seen that the girl was 
watching them, which was evidently contrary to their 
wish, for as soon as she turned her head in their direc- 
tion, they reined up, and, after a short parley, wheeled 
and rode back into the shadow of the wood. The 
occurrence filled Florence with terror, but for some 
reason she could not make up her mind to speak of the 
matter to her friends. However, as they proceeded on 
their journey, and she saw no more of the horsemen, 
she gradually managed to dispel her feeling of dread, 
although she firmly believed the two men had some 
evil design upon her or her companions. 

At length the station was reached, and as it wanted 
nearly half an hour to train time, the party were com- 
pelled to wait at the lonesome little depot. Here they 
discussed the feasibility of the old gentleman’s accom- 
panying them to New York, and finally arrived at the 
conclusion that owing to the illness of Florence’s 
mother, he had better return home and allow the young 
couple to go alone. Having settled this point, Mr. 
Meredith and Sydney went out upon the platform to 
see w^hether the train was in sight or not, leaving Flor- 
ence alone in the waiting-room. She sat on one of the 
benches that flanked the wall, peculiar to the seats in 
railway waiting-rooms, and directly behind her was a 
window. Her friends had no more than left her, when 
this window was raised with a quick movement and the 
faces of two men appeared at it. The girl nearly fainted 


HE HUSHED UP TO THE OLD GEKTLEMAN AND GKASHED HIM UY THE HAND.— .S'CC l\ige 33. 










THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


33 


at the sight, for they were the same that she had seen 
that evening in the dining-room of the inn. 

“ Don’t be afraid of us, young lady,” spoke the elder 
man, in a kindly tone and slightly foreign accent. “We 
intend you no harm, but would befriend you. Come, 
if you wish to escape a fate worse zan death, you must 
allow us to rescue you from zis man before eet eez 
too late.” 

Florence sprang to her feet and ran back to the mid- 
dle of the room ; and at the same instant the door on 
the opposite side opened and her father and her hus- 
band entered. The train had rolled up to the platform, 
and before she had time to utter a word, the girl was 
bustled aboard, administered a hasty kiss to her father, 
and the train started. 

The old gentleman still stood watching with tearful 
eyes the receding monster as it gradually buried itself 
in distance and gloom, when a rumble and shriek an- 
nounced the arrival of the train from the East. A 
moment later, the incoming train stopped alongside the 
platform, and a solitary passenger got off. He rushed 
up to the old gentleman and grasped him by the hand. 

The man was Sydney Parkinson — that is, the real 
Sydney Parkinson. 




CHAPTER IV. 

A MUTUAL VOW. 

Mr. Meredith was speechless with astonishment, and 
stared at the newcomer with a dazed expression, but 
could utter no word. 

“ How are you, Mr. Meredith ?” cried the new arrival, 
still shaking- his hand vehemently. “ Where is Flor- 
ence ?” 

It was not till now that a full realization of what had 
happened came to the poor old man, and it stunned 
him. He needed no additional proof to convince him 
that this, and not the other man, was Sydney Parkin- 
.son, and he knew that the man who had married his 
daughter and was now on his way to the East was a 
fraud. He also understood now the cause of Florence’s 
distrust. Her heart had, indeed, been a better criterion 
than his judgment. 

His only answer to the newcomer’s question was to 
raise his trembling hand and point in the direction of 
the vanished East-bound train, and mutter the mono- 
syllable, There !” And the visible world swam before 
his eyes for an instant and then disappeared, and the 
old man reeled and would have fallen to the floor but 
for the intervention of Sydney, who caught him in his 
arms. 

The young man called some of the station hands to 
[ 34 ] 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


35 


assist him, and Mr. Meredith was carried into the wait- 
ing-room. Here a couch was improvised and the un- 
conscious man laid upon it. Restoratives were applied, 
and it was not long before he returned to consciousness. 
As the old man opened his eyes and beheld the face of 
the young artist bending over him, he gazed long and 
earnestly at it, as if to make sure that there was no 
mistake this time. After studying the face for several 
minutes, he finally murmured : 

“ Yes, yes, it is he ! Thank God !” 

“ Don’t you know me, Mr. Meredith ?” questioned 
Sydney in a kindly voice. 

“ Yes, my boy, I know you now ; but I wasn’t sure 
at first. I was in doubt whether it was not that serpent 
who robbed me of my child — my poor, innocent Flor- 
ence ! She knew she was being deceived. Her heart 
told her she was being deceived, although her eyes 
had told her another story. How well I know now 
the meaning of her nervousness and doubt ! How 
blind I must have been not to have seen it then, before 
it was too late ! But I thought it was you, Sydney. 
God knows I did !” 

This was all such an enigma to the artist, who knew 
nothing of the circumstances, that he was inclined to 
think the old gentleman had lost his senses. He had 
understood from the latter’s strange actions and few 
remarks just prior to his fainting that Florence had 
gone, and he also inferred that she was accompanied 
by some man, but of the particulars of the case he knew 
nothing. 

“ I do not understand the meaning of this, Mr. Mere- 
dith,” he said. ‘‘ Am I to understand that Florence 
has eloped with some other man ?” 

“ No, no, no ! God forbid that I should say that !” 
cried the half-distragted father. “No, she did not 


36 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


elope with him ! The villain stole her, body and 
soul !” 

“ Did you offer no resistance ?” demanded the other, 
more perplexed than ever. “ Could you not procure 
assistance to defeat the ends of a single man ? I con- 
fess that I do not understand it all.” 

“ Try to resist him ?” echoed the old man, reflectively. 
“ No. On the contrary, it was through my assistance, 
even to the extent of giving him money, that he was 
able to steal her away.” 

“ You astound me, sir !” cried the young man in con- 
sternation. “ In that case, it is quite evident that you 
were willing that he, instead of I, should — ” 

“ No, no, no !” interrupted Meredith. “ You do not 
understand. I was not willing that he should marry 
Florence ; that is, he as the person whom I now know 
him to be. You must know that I thought all along 
that he was yourself, Sydney.” 

Parkinson was more puzzled than ever. He stared 
vacantly and with a knit brow into the old man’s face 
for some time before speaking, and it was evident that 
he still believed him to be raving. 

“ Tell me,” he at length faltered, “ how was it possi- 
ble that you should have mistaken another man for 
myself, Mr. Meredith ?” 

“ Why, my dear boy, he is the very image of you ! 
Not only this, he was familiar with circumstances con- 
nected with our tour on the continent, even to confi- 
dential conversations between you and myself and 
between yourself and Florence, which it seems impos- 
sible that anybody but ourselves should know anything 
about.” 

“ This is most remarkable ! Did he call himself 
Parkinson ?” 

“Yes; Sydney Parkinson. Here,” pursued the old 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


37 


gentleman, fumbling in his pockets for the impostor’s 
card, and, finding it, handing it to Sydney, “ is the card 
he gave me,” 

“ An exact copy of my own,” observed Parkinson^ 
after scanning the card hastily. “ The consummate 
scoundrel ! Let us lose no time in getting on his track !” 

“ No, we must delay no longer. What time does the 
next train go East ?” 

“ I shall find out,” said Sydney, starting off. 

In a few minutes he returned, with the information 
that the next train did not go till six something in the 
morning. 

“ Very well,” said the old gentleman, rising from his 
couch. “ That will give us time to get back home and 
provide ourselves with more money and other necessa- 
ries for the journey, for it maybe a long one before we 
are at the end of it.” 

Yes, but long as it may be — even if it extend to the 
grave — I shall never stop until I have run that scoun- 
drel down and avenged poor Florence’s wrongs !” 
pledged the young man, solemnly. 

“ And I am with you to the last !” cried Meredith, 
earnestly. “ Here is my hand !” 

The two men shook hands warmly, and then hur- 
ried out of the station and took their seats in the 
wagon. A rapid drive of an hour brought them back 
to the inn, where Meredith was fortunate enough to 
procure the necessary money for the trip from old 
John, but refrained from hinting to the landlord what 
had happened. He even took the precaution to leave 
Sydney sitting in the wagon, lest the old man, seeing 
him, would suspect something of the truth. A fresh 
team was put to the wagon and a servant taken along 
to fetch it back, and our friends reached the station 
just in time for the train. 


38 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


As soon as they were settled in their seats, the two 
men began the discussion of the strange events which 
which had just taken place. 

“Another thing that rendered his imposture the 
easier,” resumed Mr. Meredith, “ was the fact of his 
arriving at about the time we expected you — By the 
way, Sydney,” he broke off, suddenly, “how did it hap- 
pen that you did not arrive at the time we expected 
you ?” 

“ An unavoidable accident, which I shall explain 
later. You say this man is the very image of myself?” 

“ In every particular.” 

“ Voice, too ?” 

“ I cannot say as to that. There may be a trifling 
difference in the voice. My impression is that there is 
a slight difference, but I could not be expected to notice 
it under the circumstances.” 

“ I think I understand it now,” resumed Sydney, after 
some reflection. “ I wonder, however, if it can be the 
same fellow. There was a chap in Paris who was said 
to be my double, and who made use of my credit to an 
alarming extent, and was only curtailed in his career 
by the fact that my resources were limited, and it did 
not take him long to use what little substance I pos- 
sessed. I must admit that he afterward settled, how- 
ever. When I tried to run the rascal down, I found 
that he had left Paris, and I could discover no further 
trace of him. I had no idea he was in the United 
vStates, and I am puzzled to understand how he should 
have known enough of my affairs to have succeeded’in 
imposing himself upon Florence.” 

“ He did, nevertheless. And that is the oddest part 
of it. He recalled incidents that occurred and bits of 
conversation that passed between you and her while 
travelling in Europe last summer, things which it 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


39 


would appear no one but yourselves could have 
known.*' 

“ Indeed ? This is most miraculous ! Can you recall 
any of these reminiscences?” 

“ Let me see,” reflected the old man. “ There was 
one I remember where he spoke of your going up to 
the heights above Lucerne and looking off at the snow- 
capped Alps, and — ” 

“And she recognized that as a piece of our expe- 
rience ?” interrupted Sydney. 

“ Certainly.” 

“ But, my dear sir, if you remember, I did not go to 
Switzerland with you. I left you at Baden-Baden and 
returned to Paris, as I was obliged to get back to my 
studies, while you went on to Aix-la-Chapelle, and 
from there to some of the Rhine towns, and thence to 
Switzerland.” 

“ Such was your expressed intention, I remember. 
But you cannot have forgotten the fact that you came 
back from Paris before we left Baden-Baden and ac- 
companied us on our journey to Switzerland ?” 

“ I remember that I did nothing of the kind,” re- 
torted Sydney, firmly. 

Meredith stared at him in amazement. 

“ What do you mean ?” he inquired. 

“ Exactly what I say. I did not see you or Florence 
from the time we parted at Baden-Baden till your re- 
turn to Paris just before sailing for America.” 

The old gentleman again stared at him in mute as- 
tonishment for some time, and then, without a word, 
took out his pocketbook, and from it extracted a card 
the exact counterpart of the one which the other man 
had sent in to him at the inn, and calling his com- 
panion's attention to a memorandum on the back of it, 
said : 


40 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


“ Perhaps you will recall the occasion upon which 
you gave me that, sir ?” 

Sydney took the card and, after examining it mi- 
nutely, returned it with the remark : 

“ I never saw it before this moment, sir.” 

The old gentleman’s face assumed a puzzled expres- 
sion. He did not know what to make of the affair. 
Was the young man deliberately lying, or was he the 
possessor of the most remarkably treacherous memory 
in the world ? 

The memorandum in question was an “ I O U ” fora 
small loan from Mr. Meredith to Sydney Parkinson. 

“ This is most remarkable !” ejaculated the old gen- 
tleman at length. “ I can make nothing of it. Either, 
you have an astoundingly bad memory or else I have 
experienced a wonderful dream.” 

Sydney was silent, and his face wore a mystified ex- 
pression. At length, however, it lighted up as with 
an inspiration, and he exclaimed : 

“ I believe I have discovered the solution of the 
mystery, Mr. Meredith.” 

For heaven’s sake, tell me what it is !” cried the old 
man. 

“The fact that this rascal has been able to impose 
upon you this time renders it possible that he may 
have done so before.” 

“ Eh ?” 

“ The same person, whoever he is, who impersonated 
me at the hotel in Paris must have learned enough 
about me to palm himself off on you in a similar manner. 
He stopped at the same hotel in Paris as myself, and 
upon my credit, while I was away with you in Germany, 
and left the very day of my return. He, therefore, 
must have joined you shortly after I left you, and play- 
ing the role of Sydney Parkinson, accompanied you 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


41 


Upon the rest of your journey. If this is the party 
with whom we have to deal, Mr. Meredith, we have a 
contract on our hands.” 

The old gentleman groaned aloud. 

“ Heaven ! That my daughter’s fate should be in 
the hands of such a villain !” he cried, “ If Providence 
wills that I should ever set eyes upon the wretch, I 
shall not be responsible for my actions !” 

If it is so ordained that I should meet him,” inter- 
jected Sydney earnestly, “ one of us must die !” 

At that moment Meredith’s eyes, in surveying the 
faces of the various occupants of the car, came in con- 
tact with a sight that gave him a start. It was the 
faces of the two men he had seen in the supper room 
at the wayside inn. The sight of these men in this 
place exercised a strange influence upon him, for he 
somehow associated them with the man who had robbed 
him of his daughter, and he was filled with indescrib- 
able consternation. After a little reflection, he turned 
to Sydney and said : 

“ I don’t know but what we are pretty near a clue 
already.” 

“ How ? Where ?” gasped the young man, glancing 
about the car and then at his companion’s face, which 
he found to be very pale and excited. “ Where is it ?” 

“ Look !” muttered Meredith, pointing in the direc- 
tion. “ Do you see the two men in the next seat to the 
last on the right-hand side of this aisle ?” 

“ The one with the gray hair and the other with the 
blond curls ?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, what of them ?”’ 

“ In my opinion they are in some way in league with 
the scoundrel who carried Florence off.” 

“ What leads you to believe so ?” 


42 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


“ They are strangers in the community we have just 
left — were never seen there before, so far as I know. 
They arrived about the same time that he did, and are 
now going away on the same train with ourselves.” 

There was so little in this upon which to found a 
supposition that the men had any connection with 
Florence's abductor or with the abduction, that Sydney 
was unable to refrain from laughing. 

“ I cannot see anything in all you have related,” he 
said, “ which could by any amount of twisting be con- 
strued as evidence or even suspicion that they have 
anything to do with our man.” 

“ Perhaps not,” assented the other, a little abashed. 
“ Perhaps there is nothing in all this upon which to 
found a suspicion, but I judge more by the men’s actions 
than anything else.” 

“ Oh, that alters the case entirely. If their actions 
were such as to cause you to suspect them, then you 
are probably right in your theory. What were their 
actions ?” 

“ Why, as soon as we entered the dining-room at the 
tavern last night they commenced staring at Florence, 
and never for an instant removed their eyes from her 
while we remained.” 

“A most excellent reason for supposing that they 
had nothing to do with this affair, I should say,” smiled 
Sydney. “ For if they had been mixed up with it, you 
may be sure they would have appeared to take no 
notice of her whatever.” 

This was a set-back for the old man, and he was far 
from pleased at having his fine theory upset so 
easily. 

“ At any rate,” he retorted, a little crustily, “ I still 
believe that they are the friends of this scamp and had 
something to do with helping him in the abduction.” 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 43 

My dear sir, I do not see that he required any help 
— that is — any more than you yourself lent him." 

“You do not understand me. Perhaps you do not 
choose to. There are other ways in which they might 
have assisted him besides in an open way. At all 
events, I shall see whether they had or not." 

The old gentleman arose from his seat, and Sydney 
interposed : 

“ You aren’t going to ask them ?" 

“ That is exactly what I am going to do," replied 
Meredith, coldly. 

Parkinson laughed. 

“ You will have your trouble for nothing, I can assure 
you, for if they are this fellow’s confederates, you may 
be sure they will tell you nothing." 

“ I shall see for myself,” retorted the old man, and 
away he w’ent. 

But as he approached them, the train ran into a sta- 
tion and stopped, and the two men hurried out on the 
car and jumped off. Meredith returned to his seat with 
a smile of triumph wreathing his face. 

“ Now what have you to say ?" he demanded. 

“ Well ?" laughed Sydney. 

“ The fact of their jumping off as soon as they saw 
me proves the correctness of my theory, doesn’t it ?’’ 




CHAPTER V. 

MORE MYSTERY. 

“ You may be right in your hypothesis, Mr. Meredith,’" 
admitted the artist, smiling, however, at the other’s 
gravity. “But the fact of their getting off at this 
station signifies nothing. It may have been a mere 
coincidence. Whoever they are, though, we have the 
satisfaction of knowing that they are out of our way, 
and will give us no further trouble.” 

“ I don’t know about that,” said the old man, appre- 
hensively. “If they are the rascals I take them to be, 
this is only a dodge to throw us off the track, and they 
will turn up when we least expect them.” 

Sydney used all his arts to dispel his apprehensions, 
and in the course of the day succeeded in diverting his 
mind somewhat, but ever and anon he would revert to 
it again, and at such times would scan every part of 
the car and look out of the window in evident expecta- 
tion of seeing the two men. 

It was near nightfall when the train reached Jersey 
City, and our friends lost no time in getting across to 
the New York side of the river. 

“ Instead of going to a hotel, Mr. Meredith,” sug- 
gested Sydney, when they reached Broadway, “ sup- 
pose you come to my lodgings. They are by no means 
[ 44 ] 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


45 


palatial, but I imagine we can make ourselves comfort- 
able there, and we can the better avoid the possibility 
of this fellow discovering our whereabouts, if he should 
take it into his head to do so. At least for a while.” 

“Just the thing,” declared Meredith. “ If we should 
go to a hotel and he should take a notion to look us up, 
he would have no trouble in doing so, and it is desirable 
that we should keep our presence in the city from him 
as long as possible, especially until we run upon a clue.” 

An old building in University Place, which was 
formerly a church, has, within a few years, been con- 
verted into an apartment house, and is occupied for the 
most part by the poorer class of artists as sleeping- 
rooms and studios. On the fourth floor of this building 
Sydney Parkinson had his living and work-rooms, con- 
sisting of two small and one fairly large apartment. 
There being no elevator, the two men were compelled 
to climb the four flights of stairs. As the artist led the 
way up he met the janitor coming down. The latter 
stopped and gazed at Sydney in evident astonishment. 
The artist wondered at the conduct of the janitor, who 
was ordinarily a very civil man, and should have had 
no trouble in recognizing his tenant, and concluded to 
question him touching his behavior. 

“What is the matter, Judson ?” he interrogated. 

“Nothing, sir,” replied the Janitor, “only I was just 
wondering how you managed to change your clothes 
and come back so soon, sir.” 

“ What do you mean ?” demanded the artist, in 
surprise. 

“ Why, sir, didn't you just go out this minute in a 
light suit ?” queried the janitor. 

“ I did not, nor in any other kind of a suit.” 

The man indulged in that incredulous sort of a laugh 
that a subordinate is apt to do when he would like the 


4(5 


tHE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


best in the woTld to tell you that you have lied, but 
dare not. 

Under ordinary circumstances Sydney would have 
lost his temper, but at that moment the truth flashed 
upon him. 

“ No, you did not see me go out, judson,” he said, 
smiling-, “ but you probably saw a man who is my 
counterfeit.” 

Again the janitor laughed. 

“ Never mind,” pursued the artist, coloring and grow- 
ing a little nervous from very vexation. “ I know that 
you think it could have been none other than rnyself. 
But tell me, how long has it been since he — that is, I — 
went out ?” 

Sydney did not realize how absurd this question must 
have sounded to one ignorant of the facts until the jan- 
itor again burst out in an uproarious guffaw, and he 
saw that it would be necessary to explain matters to 
the fellow if he desired to obtain any satisfactory 
information from him. He therefore entered into a 
detailed explanation of how his double had, at various 
times, imposed himself upon the public as the real 
Sydney Parkinson. He also explained that he had just 
returned to the city, and could not, therefore, have been 
in the house at the time at which the janitor imagined 
he saw him. 

All of which only had the effect of partially convinc- 
ing the man, but he nevertheless volunteered the infor- 
mation that the person whom he had mistaken for the 
artist had arrived about noon. That he had entered 
the studio with a key, remained for some time, and 
then went away. That he had called again a few min- 
utes before Sydney’s arrival, with two other men, but 
left almost immediately afterward. 

“ Did he say where he was going ?” inquired Sydney. 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


47 


No sir.” 

“ Did you notice what the two visitors were like ?*' 

“Yes, sir, I couldn’t helpnoticin’ them,’’ rejoined the 
janitor, and proceeded to describe them minutely. 

“ By Jove !’’ cried Sydney. “ The very chaps we saw 
in the car. I wonder how they managed to get here 
ahead of us ?’’ 

But when he turned to the old gentleman, as he 
spoke, he found him ghastly white and trembling as 
with an ague. The artist understood the meaning of 
it. The superstitious old man believed there was 
something miraculous in the unaccountable appearance 
of the two men who had left the train a hundred miles 
from New York, being there ahead of those who 
remained on the train. 

Sydney did not stop to discuss the matter with him 
then, however, but grasping his arm, assisted him up 
to the studio. There he sat, shaking his head dismally 
for a long time, and at length he murmured : 

“ There is some strange unearthliness about this 
whole affair — something that no human being will ever 
be able to unravel.’’ 

“ Oh, no, my old friend. Do not talk like that,’’ 
urged Sydney, in a soothing tone. “We shall soon 
unravel the whole business and bring that rascal to 
jU'-tice. As for the apparently supernatural about it, 
that is all imagination. It is simply a coincidence that 
another man happens to resemble me very closely, 
that is all.’’ 

“ That is not the worst, my boy,’’ groaned the old 
man. “ I am not at all superstitious on that score, for 
I understand it to be a natural phenomenon. But 
please explain, if you can, how those two men whom 
we saw leave the train a hundred miles from the city 
reached here before we did.’’ 


48 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


The artist was a trifle puzzled to explain the mys- 
tery, but it would not do for him to admit the impossi- 
bility of a natural explanation of it, even if his 
materialism would have permitted him to believe that 
there was anything supernatural about the affair. 
Therefore he struggled manfully, and in his despera- 
tion succeeded beyond his expectation. 

“ It is a trifle mysterious, I admit,” he began, “ but,” 
and here an inspiration came to his aid, “ not beyond a 
rational solution. In my opinion the men never left 
the train. It would have been very easy, in case their 
design was to elude us, to step off the train and walk 
back and take a seat in another car of the same train.’’ 

“ But, assuming that they came in on the same train, 
how could they reach here ahead of us ?” 

“ There would have been no trouble about that. As 
you know, we took the elevated train at Park Place, 
rode up to Eighth Street, got off there and walked up 
to Tenth, two blocks, and across from Sixth Avenue to 
University Place, another two blocks, and another half 
block here. Now suppose they had taken a hack at 
the ferry and driven directly here ? Why, they could 
easily have beaten us, and that is the time at which the 
janitor probably saw them.” 

“ From the way he spoke, I should judge that it was 
much earlier,” objected Meredith. 

“I know,” said Parkinson, determined to leave no 
ground for doubt on the old man’s part. But you 
must know that Judson has a very poor memory. Bur 
let us banish these childish fancies and get down to 
something practical. We must — Great Heaven !” 

As Sydney had concluded his remarks, he had walked 
toward a picture upon which he had been at work, and, 
lighting the gas-jet that hung directly over it, glanced 
at his unfinished work. 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


49 


“ AVhat is it ?” asked Meredith, running over to where 
he stood gazing at the picture with a horrified expres- 
sion. 

“ Look !” exclaimed the artist, pointing at the canvas. 

“ What is it ?” again demanded the other, who, of 
course, could see nothing unusual. 

“ He has been at work upon my picture !” muttered 
Sydney.” 

“ Who ?” 

“ My — my double !” gasped the artist. 

“ And spoiled it ?” 

“ Spoiled it ? No ! Done it as well as I could have 
myself ; and the most remarkable thing about it, he 
has employed my own method, a thing that no Ameri- 
can artist ever did before. No living man could have 
done that.” 

“ What !” cried the old man in astonishment, and then 
burst into a boisterous laugh. “ I thought you did not 
believe in such things.” 

The artist was dismayed. He did not actually mean 
that he believed the work had been done by a spirit, 
but had merely uttered it in a fit of absent-mindedness. 
He had exhibited a weakness in the other’s eyes which 
it would take a tedious time to explain away, and he 
did not feel inclined to take the trouble just then. In 
fact, he was nettled at the old gentleman for catching 
him, and angry with himself for making the slip ; so, 
turning abruptly from the picture, he said, in a brusque 
tone : 

“ Come, let us go. We have no time to waste. We 
must find whether that fellow has really been here or 
not, and, if possible, where he has gone to at pres- 
ent.” 

With that he strode out of the studio, and was fol- 
lowed by Mr. Meredith. When they were about half 


50 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


way down the first flight of stairs, the artist paused, and 
turning to his companion, said : 

“ There is one thing I shall do before leaving here, 
and that is to put an extra lock on that door, so that 
the fellow cannot get in, even if he has a key to the 
regular lock.” 

He returned to the studio, and procuring a heavy 
padlock, which happened to be in the studio, placed it 
through a clasp and staple on the outside of the door, 
and locked it. 

‘‘There,” he muttered, “ that will put a check upon 
his freedom with my apartments, I imagine.” 

When Sydney at length reached the street, he was in 
a quandary which way to proceed, and in his dilemma 
turned abstractedly into a cigar store near at hand and 
called for a cigar. He knew the dealer well and ad- 
dressed him familiarly, after which the latter remarked: 

“ You must be doing a good deal of smoking, this 
evening, Parkinson, or have you some kind friends to 
help you out ?” 

“ Friends !” echoed Sydney, absently. 

“ But you don’t mean to say you have used the entire 
box you got here half an hour ago ?” questioned the 
dealer in astonishment. 

“ Certainly. Why not ?” 

“ It is no business of mine, of course, if you can af- 
ford it, old fellow ; but I thought you were going to 
the theatre.” 

Here appeared to be a clue, and the artist pricked 
his ears. But it would require some tact to get at the 
unsuspecting dealer without letting him into the secret 
of his double. After a moment’s reflection, however, 
he hit upon a plan. 

“The fact is, Parker,” he began, “I’m so deuced 
absent-minded of late that I don’t remember what I 


tttE MEREDitH MARRIAGE. 


51 


Say five minutes after I have said it, half the time. 
Did I say I was going to the theatre ?” 

“You certainly did, and, moreover, boasted that you 
were going to take the handsomest girl in town.” 

“ The deuce you say ! I didn’t say anything about 
this angel being my wife, did 1 ?” 

“Yes,” replied the cigar man, laughing. “At least, 
you led me to infer as much ; but, of course, I knew 
you were joking.” 

“ I should hope so. But what theatre did I say I was 
going to ? Do you remember ?” 

“Yes, you said you were going to the Academy of 
Music. But, honor bright, you aren’t giving me a guy 
about your not remembering anything about this ?” 

“ I hope I may die if I do !” rejoined Sydney. “ But 
I must be going, or that beautiful girl will get tired of 
waiting.” 




CHAPTER VI. 

A GLIMPSE OF THE GAME. 

So absorbed had Sydney been in this mysterious af- 
fair that he had forgotten, temporarily, the very exist- 
ence of the old gentleman until he returned to the 
street again after leaving the cigar store. 

“ I beg your pardon, Mr. Meredith,” he said, apolo- 
getically. “ I got so absorbed in what that fellow was 
telling me about our man that I fear I have neglected 
you. Have a cigar ?” 

“ Thanks,” responded Meredith, taking the proffered 
cigar. “You need apologize for nothing you do under 
the stress of the present distracting affair, for we are 
both liable to forget civility and everything else. But 
what was the fellow to whom you allude saying ?” 

“ He says that my double was in the cigar store not 
more than half an hour ago and bought a box of cigars. 
He also says that the fellow signified his intention of 
going to the theatre, and, inasmuch as he spoke of ac- 
companying a beautiful young lady, he doubtless al- 
luded to Florence.” 

“ Indeed !” exclaimed the old man, enthusiastically. 
“ Did you learn what theatre he was going to ?” 

“ Yes, that is the best of it. He said he was going 
to the Academy of Music, so the best thing we can do 
is to go there, and the chances are we shall see the 
scoundrel.” 

[52] 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


53 


“ The very thing !” cried Meredith, rapturously. 
“ This is better luck than we anticipated.” 

“ It certainly is,” rejoined the artist, who was also 
in high spirits. “ Come, let us get dinner somewhere 
and then go to the theatre.” 

Walking across to Broadway, they stopped at the St. 
Denis and dined, and then on up that thoroughfare to 
Fourteenth Street, the two friends were soon at the 
Academy of Music. They were a little late, but that 
served their purpose all the better, as they had no 
crowd to contend with. Sydney procured seats in one 
of the proscenium boxes, in order that he might have a 
good view of the audience, and, having rented a pair of 
opera-glasses, they began the work of scanning the 
faces of the audience. Tier after tier was slowly and 
carefully swept with the lorgnettes, and every face 
studied in turn with the severest scrutiny. And, not 
satisfied with one search, they went over the field a 
second, a third, a dozen times, but all to no purpose. 
Many faces had appeared at first glance to resemble 
the man they were 'after, and more than one woman 
had impressed them at first glimpse as bearing a resem- 
blance to Florence, but upon closer scrutiny they inva- 
riably discovered that it was not she. 

Thus the search was kept up during the whole per- 
formance, so that what went on upon the stage was 
entirely lost to them. Neither spoke for a long time, 
each being too deeply engrossed in the one object of 
finding some trace of either Florence or the man who 
had so basely deceived her. At length, however, the 
old gentleman muttered in a disheartened tone : 

“ It is no use, my boy, they are not here.” 

“ I have come to the same conclusion,” answered 
Sydney, despondently. “ The fellow either did not 
come, as he said he intended, or, having come, caught 


54 


THE . MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


sight of tis as we entered, and made his escape before 
we had a chance to see him.” 

“ We may as well go, I presume,” suggested Mere- 
dith. “ I see no use in remaining here any longer.” 

“We may as well sit the performance out now, as 
there is but one more act.” 

“ I could not have told you as much as that,” said 
the old gentleman, smiling griml}", “ for I haven’t 
taken the slightest notice of the play.” 

“ Nevertheless, there may be something gained by 
staying,” urged the artist. “ We may be able to see 
our man — in the event of our having overlooked him 
— as the crowd disperses.” 

The old gentleman offered no further objection, and 
silently submitted to the ordeal of sitting through the 
remainder of the play with the patience of a martyr, 
although his mind was still too much absorbed in other 
matters to permit him to take the least interest in what 
was passing before his eyes. 

At length the curtain fell, and the audience began 
to surge for the door ; but Sydney and his companion 
remained in their seats and focused their glasses upon 
the dispersing throng. But still to no purpose. The 
audience melted away, and no glimpse had our friends 
had of their man, and they, too, arose to depart. All 
hope had been abandoned of seeing him in that place, 
and they did not take the trouble to watch for him 
any longer. 

Overtaking the heaving, surging crowd ere they got 
beyond the lobby, the artist and his friend began the 
task of elbowing their way through. They had gone 
but a little way, however, when Sydney felt a violent 
clutch of his arm. He turned, and saw the old gentle- 
man pointing toward the door. The artist looked in 
the direction, and was surprised to behold the same 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


55 


two men whom he had seen on the train, just passing 
out of the door. He was fired with an irresistible de- 
sire to get at them, and used such heroic efforts that 
he soon succeeded in reaching the door, which he did 
in time to see the men enter a hack at the curb, not 
twenty feet away. 

Without pausing to consider the matter, Sydney was 
on the point of dashing out to the hack, with the in- 
tention of opening the door and demanding the name 
and address of the two men, when a second clutch 
at his arm caused him to stop, and turning again, be- 
held the old man pointing toward another person, who 
was just turning the corner. One glance was sufficient 
to tell him who it was. It was Sydney Parkinson’s double. 

Every other thought instantly vanished from Syd- 
ney’s mind. His whole soul was fired with the one 
idea of overtaking this man, who had been the cause 
of so much misery ; who had embittered his life, in 
fact ; and, tearing away from his companion’s grasp, 
he dashed heedlessly through the surging throng in 
the direction in which the fellow had vanished. A 
dozen rapid strides brought him to the corner of the 
building around which the man had disappeared, and 
the crowd here was less dense. 

Sydney paused and cast his eyes about. He had not 
to look long, for not twenty paces away he beheld the 
object of his search, walking leisurely off at an easy 
gait, swinging his cane with the air of one who had 
not a care in the world. His nonchalance stung Syd- 
ney to the soul and infuriated him beyond endurance, 
and he made a few rapid strides and stood at his side. 
Sydney touched the man on the arm, when the latter 
paused and turned upon the artist with an inquiring 
glance, mingled with scorn. 

“ Well ?” was the cool interrogation. 


56 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


“ I wish to know your name, sir,” ejaculated Sydney, 
sharply. 

The fellow eyed him from head to foot with a con- 
temptuous scowl, and at length demanded: 

“ By what law, human or divine, am I commanded 
to give you my name, sir 

Sydney realized that he had made a mistake in ap- 
proaching the man in this spirit, and decided to exer- 
cise a little more tact. Modifying his tone somewhat, 
he rejoined: 

“ There is no law beyond that of courtesy, I believe, 
sir, and my desire to make your acquaintance. I be- 
lieve we have met frequently before, on the other side 
of the water.” 

With that Sydney handed him his card. The gentle- 
man took the card and glanced at it with the same 
sang-froid that he might have done at one which he 
had never seen before. This astonished and irritated 
the artist, for, knowing that his double had used the 
same card more than once, he expected to see him 
blush at the very least, if not exhibit a little agitation. 
But, to his astonishment, he did neither, but coolly 
putting the card away in his pocket, as coolly took 
forth a card-case and handed Sydney one of his own 
cards. Sydney glanced at it eagerly, and saw that it 
read — 


BERNARD H. LIVINGSTONE. 


Parkinson was taken aback somewhat by the other’s 
coolness, but was determined not to give up the fight 
at once. 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


57 


“ Pardon me,” he said, “ but I believe you do not 
always use this card, do you ?” 

“ What do you mean ?” demanded Livingstone, 
coolly. 

“ For example, when you stopped at the inn near 
Jonesboro and sent your card in to Mr. Meredith and 
his daughter. You haven’t forgotten that occurrence, 
I trust? You did not use this card upon that occa- 
sion.” 

“ You speak in riddles, sir,” sneered the other. “ I 
haven’t the slightest idea what you are talking about.” 

“ Do you mean to say that you do not remember the 
circumstance to which I have alluded ?” uttered Syd- 
ney, earnestly. 

I do,” was the frigid response. 

“ Perhaps, then, you have forgotten the other occur- 
rence of going across the bridge and being married to 
Miss Meredith, under the name of Sydney Parkinson ?” 

“ I have no such recollection,” replied Livingstone, 
without a quaver in his voice. 

This utter disregard for truth struck the artist dumb 
for a moment, and he could do nothing but stare at 
the other with speechless amazement. But soon the 
recollection of Livingstone’s villainy crowded upon 
him, and his rage arose proportionately. 

Approaching a little nearer and looking the fellow 
full in the eye, he began : 

Enough, sir, of your equivocation,- or, to call it by 
its right name, lying. I have heard quite enough of it. 
Now tell me, if you value your life, where is Florence ?” 

Instead of any exhibition of anger at this insult, as 
Sydney expected, Livingstone merely shrugged his 
shoulders and laughed. This wrought the artist up to 
a frenzy, and shaking his fist in the other’s face, re- 
peated the demand more vehemently than before : 


68 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE:. 


“Where is Florence, sir? Tell me, or, by Heaven, 
I ’ll kill you !” 

This appeared to strike home, for Livingstone turned 
pale, and, stepping back a pace and scowling darkly, 
said: 

“ Do you refer to my wife ?” 

“ I refer to the lady whom you married under the 
falsest and basest of pretenses — that of masquerading 
under the name and character of a gentleman — and 
who, if she knew your true character, would spurn you 
from her as she would a serpent !” 

This outburst appeared to amuse the fellow, for he 
broke out into a fit of laughter. 

The fiery temper of the artist could brook this in- 
solence no longer. This last insult \vas too much. 
Springing at his impersonator, the artist attempted to 
clutch his throat, but the latter was too quick for him 
and eluded his grasp. He sprang back, swung his 
heavy cane, and, before the artist had time to dodge 
the blow, the cane crashed down upon his head. Syd- 
ney grew blind and dizzy, reeled for an instant, and 
then fell headlong into the gutter. 

When he returned to consciousness he found himself 
in his room, and Mr. Meredith bending over him. The 
night had passed and a new day had dawned, but the 
old gentleman had never left him for an instant, after 
having him carried in and laid upon his couch. A 
physician had been called and his wound dressed, and 
from that forward Mr. Meredith had been his only 
nurse. 

“ How did it happen ?” were the old man’s first words 
when he found his patient able to talk. 

“ That villain did it,” replied Sydney, in a feeble 
voice. “ He struck me with his cane.” 

“ I was afraid that would be the result, if nothing 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


59 


worse, when I saw you dart after him. But tell me: 
Did you find out anything about where Florence is ?” 

“Yes, and no. I learned that she is with him, but 
failed to discover where he is. Never mind, though, 
my old friend ; we will run the scoundrel down yet, 
and restore onr precious one.” 

“ I hope so,” sighed the old man in a tone that ex- 
hibited more despair than hope. “But you must not 
excite yourself, my boy. You will have use for all 
your strength before we are through with this busi- 
ness.” 

“ Don’t worry about me, my old friend. I am as 
strong as ever, and, barring a slight pain in my head, 
as well. I shall soon be able to start upon our life- 
mission again.” 

Meredith was silent for some time, and then ven- 
tured in a tentative tone : 

“ Don’t you think we had better put this matter into 
the hands of the police, Sydney ?” 

The artist reflected for a long time, and at length 
answered : 

“No, 1 think not. You see, we really, so far as we 
know, have no case against the fellow.” 

“ No case !” cried the old man in a shrill voice. “ No 
case ! What do you call the abducting of a young and 
helpless woman ? I am surprised to hear you say that 
we have no case against him !” 

“ You forget that he is married to her, Mr. Mere- 
dith,” rejoined Sydney, calmly ; “legally married ; not 
only with her own consent, but with yours.” 

“ But under false pretenses — under a false name and 
false character.” 

“Granted. But suppose he was sharp enough to 
have given the minister his right name ? I do not 
know that he did such a thing, but it would be only 


60 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


consistent with his shrewdness. And then suppose, 
after he and Florence had started upon their journey, 
he had taken it into his head to be frank and told her 
his real name, and she concluded to forgive him and 
become reconciled to her lot ? What sort of a case 
would we have, even if we caught him ?” 

The old man was stunned by the suggestion. He 
had never thought of those possibilities before. But, 
after a little reflection, his inmost soul rebelled against it. 

^‘You are wrong, my boy!” he cried vehemently. 
“ Hven if the rascal had this forethought, and after- 
ward the frankness to confess who he was, Florence is 
too loyal to have forgiven him. No, sir, she would 
never do it in this world, my boy, depend upon it.” 

“ I should be loath to believe she would. But listen. 
As we know, this man travelled with you through Ger- 
many and Switzerland, and I infer that Florence 
treated him with the same tenderness that she did 
myself. She suspected nothing then, and must have 
learned to love him. Now, if she could love the man 
as Sydney Parkinson, what is to hinder her from learn- 
ing to love him as Bernard Livingstone ?” 

“Bernard Livingstone?” gasped the old man, jump- 
ing to his feet. 

“ That is the fellow’s name,” explained Sydney. 

“ Heavens ! That was the name of the boy whose 
father killed his brother on Brothers Bridge.” 




CHAPTER VIL 

REBELLION. 

So far from regaining confidence, Florence became 
more nervous than ever when she found herself alone 
with her newly made husband. Instead of a returning 
affection for him who was to be her life-companion, 
every additional moment in his society only strength- 
ened her dislike for and distrust of him, until she soon 
came to be unable to look at him or endure his contact 
without a shudder. 

The acute man of the world was not long in seeing 
the girl’s involuntary distrust of him, and although he 
exercised his utmost arts to break down the barrier 
that was gradually rearing itself between them for a 
long time, he at length lost his patience and deter- 
mined to change his tactics. 

“Florence,” he began in a cold, practical tone, at 
last, “ I demand to know once for all the cause of all 
this coldness and indifference. I cannot understand it 
coming from you, who, less than one year ago, were so 
affectionate. Remember that you are my wife, and I 
have a right to expect a reciprocation of my affection. 
If you had any objection to marrying me after our 
rather long betrothal, you should have said so before 
we went to the altar. I offered you the privilege then, 
and as you did not choose to take it, the fault is your 
own.” 


[6i] 


62 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


This practical statement did not, strange to say, 
cause Florence to break down or in any other sense 
exhibit weakness. On the contrary, it fortified her for 
the declaration she herself desired to make, and which 
she could never have mustered courage to bring about 
had he not spoken as he did. 

“Yes,” she began, taking up the last part of his re- 
marks first, “ I should have spoken then. And my only 
excuse for not doing so is my weakness. God knows 
I desired to speak, and tried with all the energy of my 
being to pluck up courage to do so, but my strength 
failed at the vital moment. When you ask me to ex- 
plain the cause of my indifference, you ask an impos- 
sibility. I cannot explain it. I only know that I do 
not, cannot feel toward you as I know a wife should 
feel toward a husband. I only know that I do not, 
cannot love you, and when you demand a reciprocation 
of your affection, you also demand an impossibility, 
for the reason I have just stated.” 

Her words had been as practical and devoid of feel- 
ing as his own, but they had a different effect upon 
him from what his had had upon her. He became greatly 
agitated and lost his usual power of eloquence. She 
could not have given him a greater shock if she had 
dashed a pail of cold water over him. He was silent 
for some seconds, during which he appeared to be 
undergoing the most excruciating torture. At length 
he spoke, in a low, tremulous voice, which showed how 
deeply her words had wounded him : 

“ You have forgotten, then, our mutual vows of one 
year ago ? You have forgotten the delicious moments 
we passed together at that time ? At least they were 
delicious to me, and you then professed that they were 
so to you. You have forgotten all this in so short a 
time ?” 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. C3 

“ No, Sydney,” she replied, with more feeling than 
she had yet exhibited, “ I have forgotten none of this, 
and I only wonder, feeling as I do now, how I could 
have loved you as I then did , or that, having loved 
you as I certainly did then, my heart should have under- 
gone such a change. I only know that it has done so, 
and I can no more prevent it or explain the cause than 
I can fly.” 

“ Perhaps you will permit me to explain it for you, 
then ?” 

She looked up in alarm. 

“Yes, you needn’t start,” he went on, in a sterner 
voice, interpreting her look as an acknowledgment of 
what he was about to accuse her. “ I am more thor- 
oughly satisfled now than ever. You do not love me, 
for the reason that you do love my — ” 

But he checked himself, colored and lapsed into 
silence. 

“ Why, what do you mean ?” she demanded, with still 
greater alarm. 

“ Nothing,” was the cold response. 

She was silent, and bit her lip from vexation. 

“ If,” she ventured at last in a tremulous voice, “ you 
mean to insinuate that my affections have been be- 
stowed in another direction, you wrong me ; cruelly, 
shamefully wrong me, Sydney ! You are the only man 
upon whom I ever bestowed the least affection. You 
are, indeed, the first and only one with whom I ever be- 
came sufficiently intimate to speak on the subject of love.” 

He looked at her inquiringly, and would have given 
worlds to have known whether she was speaking the 
truth — that is, so far as she knew. 

“ Are you quite sure of that ?” he finally questioned. 

“ Sure of it ?” and she looked up at him with a hurt 
expression. “ Why, how can you ask such a question ? 


C4 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


I was but sixteen when we w^ent abroad, and had 
never kept company with a gentleman in my life, and 
w^e had travelled two years before I met you at Paris. 
And the day we drove out to the Cours de Bade, near 
Baden-Baden, and you made a declaration of your love, 
was the first time that any man had ever spoken on the 
subject to me.” 

“ The day we drove out to the race track ?” 

“ Yes,” she responded, as he came to a sudden pause. 
“ You cannot have forgotten that ?” 

Oh, no, I have not forgotten it,” he answered 
quickly, although his confusion would have shown any- 
body conversant with all the facts that it was the first 
time he had ever heard of the affair. “ Oh, no, I can- 
not forget that,” he repeated. And her allusion to the 
subject proved to him that at least she suspected noth- 
ing of the existence of the double thus far, and his mind 
was somewhat set at ease by the discovery. “ But you 
professed to reciprocate my affection at that time.” 

She looked up quickly, and when he turned his own 
eyes upon her face, he saw that it wore an expression 
of the utmost astonishment. 

“ Why, I don’t see how you can say that,” she ut- 
tered. “ I certainly said nothing to lead you to that 
belief. On the contrary, I told you then that your 
avowal w^as so sudden and unexpected that it had taken 
me by surprise.” 

“Yes, I know you said that,” he answered quickly, 
seeing that he had made a serious blunder. “ But — 
but — I inferred that — ” 

“ You must remember,” she interrupted, “ that it was 
nearly a week afterward, when we were returning from 
a visit to the Kursaal, and you renewed your protest- 
ation.s, that I finally confessed that your affection was 
reciprocated.” 



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THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


65 


“ So it was ! So it was !” he coincided, with sus- 
picious prompness. “That was the day, wasn’t it,” he 
ventured, feeling his way, “ that I left you to return to 
Paris ?” 

“ Yes, you left that same evening.” 

“I knew it was the same day.” And then inwardly 
he exclaimed : “Thank goodness, I hit the mark for 
once! — Well, you did .actually love me then he 
resumed aloud. 

“ Yes, sincerely,” she confessed, blushing. 

“ And when I returned from Paris, a few days later, 
contrary to your own and my expectations, you still 
appeared to entertain the same regard for me ?” 

“ Which I did.” 

“ You saw no change in me then, and had undergone 
no change yourself ?” 

“ No.” 

“ And during all our wanderings for the next month 
you were contented and happy in my society ?” 

“ I certainly was. But there were strange lapses of 
memory on your part once in awhile that caused me to 
wonder, and I sometimes imagined that your mind 
was wandering.” 

“ Indeed !” and he assumed an air of astonishment 
which she, in her innocence, mistook for genuine. “ I 
do not recall them, dear. What for instance, did I 
appear to forget ?” 

“Well, once, while in Switzerland, when I alluded to 
some things which had passed between us while in 
Germany, you seemed to have forgotten all about 
them.” 

“My wretched memory,” he muttered. “And now 
to show you what a miserable memory I have at times 
I must confess that I have even forgotten what partic- 
ular circumstance I had forgotten at that time.” 


66 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


“ Why, 5 "oii must remember t/iat” she said, blushing 
violently. 

“ For the life of me, darling, I cannot," he affirmed. 

Please tell me just one." 

“ Well, it was when we were walking over the bridge 
across the Reuss at Lucerne. We had stopped to gaze 
down into the swift stream, when you put your arm 
around me and — and — kissed me." Here she grew 
very red. “And you declared that it was our first 
kiss." 

“ As it was — that is — " 

“ What?" 

“That is," he faltered, seeing that he was about to 
commit another blunder, “ the first one therey 

“ Oh !" 

“I thought I had explained tJiat'* 

“No, you did 7iot explain, and that was one of the 
occasions on which I was led to believe that either 
your mind was inclined to wander, or that — " 

“ I was inconstant, eh ?" he laughed, catching at the 
opportunity. “ Now, now, my little girl, how could 
you ever get that foolish idea into your head ?" 

“ It seemed so strange that you should have forgotten 
such things, that you could not blame me for suspect- 
ing something wrong," she returned, pouting. 

“ My little Florence should have remembered that I 
was studying very hard at that time^ and — forgive me 
for admitting it — my mind was absorbed with my art 
more than anything else. I know my Florence can 
forgive me for this, as I felt that her happiness de- 
pended upon my success, and my devotion to my 
studies was only another form of devotion to her." 

The smile she bestowed upon him showed him that 
his bit of unction had not been spent in vain. 

“ But," she persisted, as if determined to humble 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


67 


him still more, “ that wasn’t as bad as your conduct 
when we reached Paris.” 

“ For goodness’ sake, what was I guilty of there ?” he 
exclaimed, with a well-feigned look of horror. “ You 
may as well tell me all of it at once, so that I may sue 
for absolution of all my sins while I am about it.” 

“ You certainly have not forgotten that,” she cried, 
with genuine astonishment, “ for I gave you such a 
scolding then that I was sure you would remember it !” 

“Just my wretched memory !” he again grumbled. 
“ As a matter of fact, it has all passed out of my mind. 
You see, my studies — ” 

“ Don’t you remember that on rejoining us at the 
hotel, after being absent but a few hours, you came in 
and shook papa’s and mamma’s hands, and then mine, as 
though you hadn’t seen any of us for a year, and asked 
when we had returned to Paris, and if we had had a 
pleasant journey ?” 

“ Great Scott ! Did I ask that ?” he exclaimed, 
affecting to be greatly astonished. 

“ You certainly did, and I shall never forget the look 
of surprise on papa’s and mamma’s faces, nor can I for- 
get my own astonishment. But papa, who is very 
charitable, tried to smooth the matter over with mamma 
and me afterward by saying that he supposed you had 
met some of your artist friends and had taken a little 
too much.” 

“Which, indeed, was the truth, dear,” interjected 
Sydney (as we must still call him for the present), only 
too eager to find a way b'ut of the dilemma. “ But I 
pledge my word that it shall never occur again.” 

“ This, then, was the secret of your absent-minded- 
ness ?” 

“ Not always, dear,” replied he, in a tone of abject 
penitence. “ My abstraction in my studies, as I said, 


68 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


had most to do with it ; still, I must confess that there 
were times when your father’s theory would have been 
the correct one. But now, my dear girl, all this is past, 
and you will find me a different man in the future.” 

All this had its effect upon the susceptible girl, who, 
notwithstanding her inexplicable repugnance to the 
man, could not be insensible to the genuineness of his 
devotion. She had experienced a strange sensation at 
the mention of the word “ wife,” which had caused her 
to involuntarily shrink from him, but she resolved to 
begin the fight against her natural inclinations from 
that moment, and, if she could not succeed in restoring 
the affection she had once borne him, at least to accept 
with unflinching resignation her unhappy lot and to 
strive with her utmost strength to reciprocate his affec- 
tion — in appearance, if no more. 

He was not slow to discover the change which had 
come over her, and determined to take advantage of it 
to strengthen his own case. 

“It was selfish — cruelly selfish in me to ask you to 
love me, Florence,” he said, in the tenderest manner 
“ when I should have seen that it was no fault of yours 
that your affection had cooled. I should have accepted 
my fate with a manlier fortitude, and striven to win 
your sympathy, if no more. And it was doubly selfish 
and cruel to intimate that your affection had been be- 
stowed elsewhere, when I knew my little girl’s heart 
too well to have allowed me to harbor such a thought 
for an instant. But the crowning bit of selfishness was 
in failing to see your repugnance to our union before it 
was too late, and to have assured your happiness by 
releasing you then and there. It would have broken 
my heart, but it was my simple duty, for my happiness 
is nothing to yours, Florence.” 

There was a note of such hopeless sadness in his 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


69 


words, such an obvious spirit of voluntary self-sacrifice, 
that the girl was deeply touched. She could not help 
feeling that she was guilty of a great wrong ; that she 
was unnecessarily martyring a noble, generous being, 
who was not only worthy of her but who was greatly 
her superior in many respects. And with the thought 
came the impulse that she had misinterpreted her own 
heart all this time, and that, after all, she did love him, 
as truly and devotedly as she had ever done. The 
next moment she buried her face in his bosom, burst 
into tears, and cried: 

“ Oh, Sydney, I do love you with all my heart ! Will 
you — can you forgive your weak little girl ?” 




CHAPTER VIII. 

THE DEFEAT. 

Sydney folded the penitent girl to his bosom, and 
for a long time they remained silently entwined in 
each other’s embrace. At this hour of the night the 
coach was silent, and most of the passengers, who, like 
themselves, had taken the parlor-car, had twisted 
themselves into such attitudes as their narrow limits 
would permit, and were snoring lustily. Therefore 
nobody paid the slightest attention to the actions of 
anybody else, and the young couple could enjoy their 
honeymoon unmolested. After a long and delicious 
silence, Sydney spoke: 

“ You have made me very happy, Florence,” he said. 

Happier than I ever hoped to be, after the reception 
you gave me at the inn.” 

“Oh, Sydney !” she protested, “why do you remind 
me of my weakness ? Why cannot we forget that un- 
pleasant alfair ?” 

“ So we will, dear,” he answered, quickly. “ Forgive 
me for alluding to it. But you have made me so happy 
within the last hour that I could not help contrasting 
it with the wretchedness into which I had fallen a few 
hours before. But, as you say, we shall forget that any 
such occurrence ever took place, and date our life from 
this moment.” 

[70] 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


71 


Shall we not sometimes recall the moments we 
spent together on the continent ?" she objected. 

“Oh, certainly, we shall not forget that,” he an- 
swered. “ But we shall bury every unpleasant little 
incident out of sight forever.” 

“And that will not be hard,” she murmured, “for 
they have been few — eh, Sydney, dear ?” 

“ Yes, darling, very few, thank goodness.” 

Oh, that the happiness and success we promise our- 
selves could be as easily fulfilled as they are conceived ! 
How little do we know, as we tread the sun-kissed and 
rose-embowered pathway of Hope, how soon we may 
step over the precipice and find ourselves engulfed in 
the abyss of Despair ! 

As the day broke, cloudless and glorious, and when 
these two young travellers, starting upon life’s hopeful 
voyage, looked out of the car window upon the sweet 
autumnal landscape, the world appeared more beautiful 
than it had ever appeared before. There was not a 
tint in the red and brown and russet scene or a scent 
that wafted up from the meadows and woodlands that 
did not harmonize with their happy hearts. 

At length, about nine o’clock, the train rolled into 
the depot at Jersey City, and then came a pandemonium 
of noise and bustle, as the throng surged toward the 
ferries, and struggled past another crowd which was 
surging toward the outgoing trains. And there was a 
confusion of baggage-laden trucks, bawling porters, 
screeching newsboys and yelling train-dispatchers that 
made Florence’s brain reel as she was half dragged 
through the swaying, struggling crowd on her hus- 
band’s arm. Finally she found herself on the ferry- 
boat, where she seemed to have got by some chance, as 
she could not imagine where she was going until she 
arrived in the “ Women’s Cabin.” 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


rz 


And there was something very unreal about it all. 
She had fallen into a sweet delirium at the moment of 
her discovery that she loved — or thought she loved — 
her husband, and she dared not allow her mind to stray 
away into the real, palpable world, lest she should 
awake to that hateful state of distrust again. Nor did 
she awake from her dream when she found herself, a 
little later, alone with him, huddled into the narrow 
limits of a hack, and felt herself jerked and jolted along 
over the rough streets. They were both too happy or 
too much absorbed in reflection to converse much on 
the way, and the first thing Florence knew the hack 
stopped, and Sydney alighted and helped her to the 
sidewalk ; and then, as he left her standing while he 
looked after having her trunk carried in, she took 
occasion to look about her. She saw that she was in a 
narrow, deserted street of tall houses, the solemn, in- 
hospitable brown fronts of which gave her a shiver, 
and the poor girl could not help contrasting her own 
rural home, with its limitless expanse of greensward 
blending away to the horizon or woodland, with the 
cramped habitations she saw here. Already she began 
to experience a cramped sensation herself, as if she 
could never find room here to stretch her limbs, or air 
enough to fill her lungs. 

But her reverie was soon broken in upon by Sydney, 
who came and took her by the arm with the gentle 
admonition: 

“Come, dear, let us go in.” 

Florence allowed herself to be ushered into the hall- 
way, which, she could not avoid noticing, was redolent 
with the smell of onions and various other articles of 
cookery, and she was not favorably impressed with her 
introduction to her new home. 

Sydney at once began the ascent of a not very tidy 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


73 


stairway, and she mechanically followed, wondering’ 
where she was going. Beyond the vague allusion to a 
“ cozy little flat,” which her husband had made on their 
way to the railway station the night before, he had told 
her nothing concerning the sort of home he was bring- 
ing her to, and her curiosity, coupled with a sort of 
foreboding, increased with each additional flight of 
stairs she toiled up. And by the time they reached the 
fourth floor, and he turned, with a smile, which she 
could barely discern in the dark passage, and intimated 
that they had at last arrived at their destination, her 
spirits had sunk very low. 

“You won’t find a palace here, dear,” he observed, in 
a gentle voice ; “ but I imagine we can be as happy as 
we would in a larger place.” 

Florence was too despondent by this time to offer any 
response, and her husband proceeded to unlock the 
door. When she got inside, however, her spirits arose 
somewhat, for she found all that Sydney had promised 
— a cozy little flat. Particularly was the designation 
“ little ” appropriate, for never were rooms designed for 
living beings to inhabit more economical in dimensions. 
The place was wonderfully suggestive of a doll-house. 
There were six little rooms “ and bath ” in all, and the 
whole of them would scarcely have made her own sin- 
gle room at home. But they were tidy and neatly fur- 
nished, only there was an unpleasant odor of varnish 
and upholstering, and a general sheen and sharp-cor- 
nered newness about everything that was absolutely 
chilling. 

“ What does my little wife think of it ?” inquired Syd- 
ney, after they had looked the flat over. “ Isn’t it cozy ?” 

“ Yes,” she replied, feebly, “ it’s cozy, but it seems as 
though we should have to stand up all the time for fear 
of crowding each other.” 


74 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


Sydney roared. 

“ You allude to the snugness of the rooms? Well, 
I’ll admit that there is hardly room to muster a regi- 
ment, my dear, but quite enough for our simple needs ; 
don’t you think so ?” 

“ But,” she went on, looking about wonderingly, 
‘‘ where are we to sleep ?” 

Again her husband laughed. And then stepping up 
to a piece of furniture which looked for all the world 
like a chiffonier, and, with an adroit movement, caused 
the front to drop down, Florence was for the first time 
initiated into the mysteries of the folding-bed. 

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Does everybody in New 
York fold up the furniture in the day time ?” 

“ Not all of them,” he laughed, “ but a good many of 
the poorer ones do.” 

Pretty soon the cook, who was also maid-of-all-work, 
came in to announce breakfast, and, after making their 
toilets, our young couple sat down to their first meal in 
their new home. There was nothing very appetizing 
and Florence could eat but little, although she strove 
to appear cheerful ; but in spite of her efforts she was 
compelled to let Sydney do all the talking. As soon 
as the rather short meal was at an end, Sydney arose 
and said : 

“ Now, my dear, I must go to the studio, for, as I 
told you, every minute is precious with me until I have 
completed my picture. As you had no sleep last night, 
you had better retire and have a good rest against my 
return, and to-night we will go to the theatre.” 

With that he kissed her and hurried away. 

But Livingstone had scarcely reached the street 
when a strange sensation came over him. Could he 
have analyzed it, he would have recognized it as 
remorse. 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


1b 


“ What have I done ?” he asked himself, as he paused. 
“ I have inveigled an innocent girl into marrying me 
under false pretenses. True, the marriage is valid 
which was intended to be a farce, and thus far I have 
acted honorably — more honorably than if the joke had 
been carried out. Again, although a wife, she is still 
the sweet, unsullied flower I found her. On the other 
hand, I have deceived her in palming myself off on her 
for another man. But love is to be blamed for this. Her 
beautiful face and shining soul are responsible for my 
allowing what had been- intended as a prank on the one 
hand and vengeance on the other to become a serious 
matter all round. If any one had told me in the begin- 
ning that it would end by my falling heels over head 
in love with the little minx, I should have laughed at 
him. So much for playing with edged tools. But 
what shall I do ? I should go back and make a clean 
breast of it — confess everything and ask her forgive- 
ness. But would she forgive me ? That is the ques- 
tion. I do not believe .she would. Her love, as it is, is 
a sort of artificial affair, like a stage fire, fed by a 
slender faith, which is also artificial, so that the flame 
will expire the instant the puny fuel is shut off.” 

After a good deal of reflection, which he indulged 
in as he paced to and fro, he arrived at this conclu- 
sion : 

“ No, I won’t go back now. It would be cruel to 
break in upon her happiness so soon, for one thing. 
Besides, she is fatigued and less able to endure the 
shock than she will be after a good sleep. Meanwhile, 
I have left my desk open with all my papers, so that, 
if she possesses an iota of the curiosity said to be char- 
acteristic of women, she will know pretty much all 
about me against my return. So there will be that 
much that I won’t have to explain. This is what I 


76 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


shall do: I shall give her the day to it. She ’ll have to 
have her little cry, of course, and when I return this 
evening, it will be as the prodigal son — or husband, 
rather. In the meantime, I must seek my friends, and 
between us devise some new mode of harassing that 
double of mine.” 

Left to herself, there was nothing farther from Flor- 
ence’s mind than sleep for that day. Everything was 
so strange, so new, so unsympathetic, it seemed, that 
she was soon terribly homesick and despondent. Nor 
did time serve to improve her condition. As the day 
wore on, she grew more and more wretched. The old 
feeling of distrust came over her again, after a time, 
and she once more realized that she did not love her 
husband. In the midst of her desolation, she opened 
her trunk and took therefrom a photograph. Throw- 
ing herself upon a divan near the window, she ex- 
amined the picture. The first glance gave her a start, 
and an icy pang went to her heart. It was not the 
picture of her husband ! Her heart told her this, al- 
though her eyes told her it was the likeness of Sydney 
Parkinson. Yes, the face was undoubtedly the same, 
but there appeared to be something back of this which 
was wanting in the man she had just wed. Poor 
Florence was bewildered, horrified, frightened, and in 
her agony she began to believe she was losing her 
reason. What could it all mean ? She was sure now 
that she entertained no affection for the man who had 
just left her ; and as she sat gazing at the picture, and 
she felt her heart going out toward it, or the subject 
of it rather, .she felt that she hated and loathed her 
husband. 

And yet, she told herself, she loved the subject of the 
picture, and the subject of the picture she believed to 
be the same man whom she had wed. 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


77 


Oh, what could be the meaning of it ? There was 
some terrible mystery, she felt, but she could not divine 
what it was. The girl grew desperate, and as she arose 
and paced the floor her repugnance for her husband 
grew so strong that she at length felt that she could 
not endure to meet him again. But what should she 
do ? Where could she go ? 

During all this time she had never for an instant sus- 
pected the truth — the real cause of her unaccountable 
abhorrence of the man whom she had striven so hard 
during the last few hours to love. And then there was 
something coming over her. She did not understand 
what it was. She would have scorned to call it suspi- 
cion. Perhaps she would have preferred to have called 
it curiosity. Whatever it was, however, it impelled 
her, without her volition, to do something she would 
have scorned to do at any other time of her innocent 
life. 

Florence went to her husband’s secretary, and, find- 
ing it unlocked, began to look over some of his papers. 
She found a number of letters, but, to her perplexity, 
they were all addressed, not to “ Sydney Parkinson,” 
but to “ Bernard H. Livingstone !” Who was Bernard 
Livingstone ? she asked herself. It could not be her 
husband. And yet how came all these letters super- 
scribed with that name in his secretary ? And why did 
she find none addressed to Sydney Parkinson ? 

Perhaps she would have confessed to a shadow of 
suspicion now ; still, she would be just. She would 
give him the benefit of a thorough investigation before 
pronouncing judgment. She sought farther. Still no 
letter or other document bearing the name by which 
she had known him was to be found. At length she 
found an envelope addressed to another person. It 
contained a letter, and as it was still unsealed, her hus- 


78 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


band had evidently written it and forgotten to post it. 
Should she extract the letter and peruse its contents ? 
Would this be right? she mused. Why not ? The envel- 
ope was not sealed ; besides, as she was his wife, she had 
a right to know his affairs. Fortified with this excuse 
as a balm for her conscience, Florence quickly drew 
forth the letter. But she did not read it at once. Glan- 
cing at the signature, she saw that it was that of Bernard 
Livingstone, and then, without examining the letter 
farther, she returned to her trunk and took therefrom 
a package of letters written by Sydney Parkinson. 
Opening one of these, she carefully compared the writ- 
ing with that of the letter she had found in the secre- 
tary. It wanted but a glance to convince her that they 
were not written by the same hand. But this had only 
the effect of deepening the mystery, and she seated 
herself by the window and proceeded coolly to peruse 
the letter she had taken from the secretary. It was 
as follows ; 

‘‘ — East Eighty-first Street, > 
New York, Oct. 15, 18 — . $ 

Dear Carroll : I start West to-morrow morning, for the 
purpose of making the final test. If I succeed this time as well 
as on the previous occasions, I should, by all justice, be declared 
the winner. At any rate, I will be the winner in one sense. You 
may meet me at the depot, and we will go together ; and I 
write Antonio simultaneously with this, that he may also be 
present and see that everything is carried out according to agree- 
ment. You have no reason to complain with regard to the 
other performances, and I trust you will have as little with re- 
gard to the present one. 

“I shall leave the Jersey City depot at 9:15. Be on hand 
promptly. Sincerely your friend, 

B. H. Livingstone." 

The letter conveyed very little intelligence to the 
girl, for the reason that she had not the slightest idea 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


79 


of who B. H. Livingstone or either of the other persons 
alluded to in the epistle was. Nevertheless, she was 
impressed with the notion that there was some wicked 
mystery connected with it, and, moreover, suspecting 
that her husband’s real name was Livingstone, she did 
not doubt but that he was in some way concerned in it. 
She was not greatly affected by the discovery. Indeed, 
she was somewhat disappointed that she had found 
nothing worse. But the conclusion that she could not 
endure to meet him again, vaguely shadowed before, 
* had become a substantial fact now. She calmly placed 
the letter in the envelope again and restored it to its 
place in the secretary. She then as calmly began 
preparations for flight. 

Attiring herself in a plain walking-dress and putting 
a few necessary articles in a hand-satchel, she stepped 
into the kitchen and informed the servant that she was 
going out. She did not say when she would be back, 
but avoided saying anything about going for good. 
She then quietly left the flat. 

When Florence reached the street, she walked at a 
rapid pace for the distance of several blocks without 
looking behind her, neither knowing nor caring where 
she was going, impelled by the one idea of putting as 
much distance as possible between her and the place 
to which her husband had brought her. But when she 
was what she believed to be a long way from the flat, 
she slackened her pace and began to consider what she 
should do. She had but little money — not sufficient to 
take her back to her home in the country — not even to 
stop at an expensive hotel for any length of time. She 
had, therefore, but one alternative — to go to some 
cheap place where her money would keep her for a few 
days, and in the meantime write home for funds upon 
which to return. She did not dream that her father 


80 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


was in the city, and if she had known it, she would not 
have known where to find him. As she continued to 
walk, she at length came upon a sign in a window an- 
nouncing that boarders were taken there, and as the 
place had the appearance of respectability, she as- 
cended the stoop and rang the bell. She was soon 
ushered into the parlor, where she was joined by the 
landlady, and made application for board. 




CHAPTER IX. 

THE SPECTER ARTIST. 

Sydney Parkinson, having regained something of his 
strength, and feeling that the fresh air would revive 
him, allowed himself to be prevailed upon by Mr. 
Meredith, late in the afternoon, to walk out with the 
double purpose of exercise and dining. After a lei- 
surely stroll up Broadway as far as Union Square, a 
few turns about the little park and a rest on one of the 
benches, they returned to the St. Denis restaurant, 
where the artist was in the habit of dining, and ordered 
dinner. 

Sydney had been somewhat revived in spirit by the 
late conversation with his old friend, and talked with 
something of his accustomed cheerfulness. 

“ I realize now that I committed a grievous error in 
picking a quarrel with this fellow,” he said, after some 
conversation on other topics had passed between the 
friends. “ I should simply have followed him and 
seen where he went. Had I done that, instead of al- 
lowing my passion to get the better of me, I would 
not only have been spared this bruised head, but we 
would, no doubt, have known ere this where he has 
Florence imprisoned,” 



THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


83 


“ Imprisoned ?” echoed his friend. 

“Yes, that is the only word for it ; for I am positive 
she would not remain with him an hour if she were not 
restrained.” 

“ I believe you may be right, my boy, unless — ” 

“Of course,” interrupted Sydney, guessing what his 
companion was about to say, “unless she still imagines 
this rascal to be myself.” 

“ Which does not seem possible at this length of 
time.” 

“ No, it does not seem possible,” returned the artist. 
“ And yet,” he pursued, with a returning shadow of his 
eld doubt, “ we cannot forget that she did not discover 
the difference when he was travelling with you.” 

“Very true,” admitted the old man, bitterly. “ But 
it is my belief that, now they are married, he will cease 
to conceal his real identity and make a clean breast to 
her, in which case I am sure she will desert him, if pos- 
sible. It is on this that I base my hope.” 

“ But suppose she should succeed in making her 
escape, she would not know where to go in this great 
city. Remember, she does not know that we are here.” 

“ True enough, but she would have no trouble in 
finding her way back home, and she would lose no time 
in going.” 

“ In which case we should soon hear from her, I 
presume.” 

“ Undoubtedly, and for that reason we may as well 
rest easy for a few days in the hope of hearing from 
her,” suggested Mr. Meredith. 

“No, I cannot rest easy,” declared Sydney. “No 
matter what theories we may have in that direction, I 
must still continue to search for Florence. It is the 
only way I can keep away despair.” 

When th^ two friends returned to the studio, being 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


83 


greatly fatigued, Mr. Meredith from his two nights’ loss 
of sleep and Sydney from his wound, they retired early. 
For many hours, however, the artist could not sleep 
after retiring. But he, at length, dropped off into a 
restless, half-waking slumber, during which he was 
haunted with all sorts of weird and unearthly dreams. 
At one time he would be climbing almost perpendicular 
mountains with Florence, and, suddenly, as they were 
just nearing the summit, exhausted and breathless, 
they would be confronted by some horrible monster, 
with the face of his double, only distorted into the sub- 
limity of diabolicalness ; and this monster would shove 
them off the precipice, hurling them down, down into 
limitless chasms. At another time he would be stroll- 
ing with Florence along a shady walk amid the divinest 
scenes the eye ever beheld ; with far-stretching vistas 
of cool greenness, of fair fields dotted over with myriads 
of variegated flowers, whose perfume, wafted on the 
gentle breeze, intoxicated the senses ; of cool, clear 
brooks that sang a sensuous and soothing lullaby. And 
then this delightful phantasmagoria would suddenly 
vanish, and he would stand upon the margin of a dis- 
mal morass, filled with crocodiles, serpents and all 
manner of hideous and repulsive reptiles ; and among 
them would be one more loathsome than all the rest, 
and it would bear the distorted face of Bernard Liv- 
ingstone. Awaking from one of these dreams at last, 
he was surprised and startled at seeing a brilliant light 
streaming in from the studio, which adjoined his bed- 
room. His first impression was that the old gentleman 
had lit the gas in the studio, but a glance at the cot 
where he had retired showed him to be in his place and 
sleeping soundly. Fearing, therefore, that something 
was wrong, he stepped quickly through the door into 
the studio. Glancing in the direction of the light, 


84 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


which was directly over the easel, a sight met his gaze 
which startled, terrified him for the instant. There, 
before his easel, stood the counterpart of himself, 
calmly working away on his unfinished picture ! 

Sydney’s first impression was that it was his double, 
who, having effected an entrance by some inexplicable 
means, had chosen this method of frightening the 
artist by investing himself with apparently super- 
human attributes. But — was it the result of an over- 
wrought imagination ? — as he gazed at the apparition, 
it did not appear to him to be human. There was to 
his eyes, a nebulous appearance to it, and, moreover, a 
pale, filmy nimbus seemed to encircle it, rendering it 
exceedingly ghost-like ! It was in vain that he tried 
to convince himself that it was an optical illusion, or 
that he still dreamed. 

Practical and materialistic as the artist was by 
nature, this unearthly apparition unnerved him for the 
moment, and his knees began to smite together under 
him. This may have been superinduced to some ex- 
tent by the fever incident to his late injury, coupled 
with a naturally strong imagination. But it was only 
for an instant. With a stubborn effort, he cast off the 
superstitious weakness which had for the moment 
undermined his manhood, and considered the unac- 
countable appearance of his double and rival in this 
place from a rational standpoint. His first impulse, as 
soon as he arrived at this conclusion, was to rush upon 
and throttle the intruder. But a second thought 
determined him to act with less impetuosity and pre- 
pare himself for the encounter. He made no demon- 
stration and moved as noiselessly as possible, that he 
might not attract the fellow’s attention, and after tak- 
ing another look to satisfy himself that he had not 
been the victim of an optical illusion, glided back into 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


85 


his bedroom. Here he clad himself in such garments 
as came handiest, put his feet into a pair of felt slip- 
pers that he might walk the more silently, and, shov- 
ing a revolver into his side-pocket, again stepped to 
the door. 

The apparition was still there, working away as 
placidly upon the picture as though he owned the 
studio. 

This incensed him to such a degree that he was on 
the point of raising the revolver and shooting the in- 
truder on the spot. This he could easily have done, as 
the mysterious artist stood with his back to him, but 
Sydney suddenly considered the cowardliness of such 
a proceeding, and returned the weapon to his pocket. 
He would meet him in a manly way, but he would 
meet him ; and, as he now had his rival in a position 
in which it was impossible for him to escape, he would 
demand and compel him to reveal the whereabouts of 
Florence, after which he would administer such chas- 
tisement as the occasion seemed to warrant. 

To this end Sydney moved noiselessly toward the 
easel, in such a manner as to put himself between the 
mysterious artist and the door, so that escape would be 
impossible. 

Meanwhile, the man at the easel worked away with 
the indifference of one who had no right to expect in- 
terruption, which convinced Sydney that he was as yet 
unaware of his presence. A dozen quick, noiseless 
strides brought him to the door, and his first care was 
to see that it was locked. To his surprise, the door w^as 
just as he had left it on retiring — locked and bolted. 
This was the first set-back to his attempted rational 
solution of the mystery, for the door was the only way 
by which the intruder could have entered. But he 
was too much agitated just then to consider this seri- 


86 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


ously, and turned upon the apparition at the easel. He 
was no more than four yards away, and exhibited a 
side-face to Sydney. The latter was strongly impressed 
with the striking resemblance of his double to himself. 
Every curve and line and detail of the face was the 
same. Even the slight droop of the left eye and a 
small mole on his right cheek were there. The like- 
ness was perfect, and he no longer wondered that the 
fellow had been able to impose himself upon the un- 
suspecting as Sydney. 

So strongly impressed was he with the discovery 
that for an instant he was again unmanned. It seemed 
impossible that two men could in reality be so much 
alike, and for the second time his materialism deserted 
him, and for a brief moment he wavered on the verge 
of the belief that the apparition before him was no man 
of flesh and blood, but a veritable phantom. But. the 
thought was only transitory. The succeeding instant 
he cast the foolish superstition aside, and nerved him- 
self with the determination to probe the mystery to the 
bottom. 

With a quick movement he placed himself nearer to 
and face to face with his double. He was now within 
six feet of him, and facing him, but the mysterious art- 
ist did not deign to raise his eyes from his work. This 
was a surprise to Sydney. It was impossible that the 
other could still be ignorant of his presence. That the 
mysterious artist might have no excuse for this ig- 
norance, however, Sydney cleared his throat. 

But it was no use. The painter did not raise his eyes, 
and went on with his work as unconsciously as if he 
had been a thousand miles from any human being. 
This greatly incensed Sydney, for he felt that nothing 
short of a stubborn determination on the part of his 
double to ignore him could have impelled this strange 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


87 


conduct. He therefore resolved to make him sensible 
of the situation, if he was in reality flesh and blood ; 
and he determined to do it in such a way that, if he had 
a spark of manhood in him, he must resent it. 

“ Fellow !” he demanded, in a terrible voice. Per- 
haps you can explain the meaning of your presence 
here 

The artist raised his eyes languidly from the canvas 
and allowed them to rest for an instant on the ques- 
tioner’s face, while an expression of the utmost indif- 
ference characterized his own, and then dropped them 
again, and went on with his work. 

This action stung Sydney to the soul. 

It was with the greatest effort he restrained himself 
from flying at the other and throttling him. But he 
swallowed his wrath, with an effort, and pursued : 

** Will you answer my question, sir ? Or shall I choke 
it out of you ?” 

This was uttered in such vigorous and strident tones 
that the fellow could not have helped hearing it, unless 
he was deaf, and the echoes of the young man’s voice 
rang through the large and nearly empty room in 
startling reverberation. But its only effect upon the 
mysterious artist was to cause him to again raise his 
eyes languidly to the interrogator’s face, and the same 
stolidness of countenance characterized him as before, 
but he uttered no word, and soon resumed his painting. 

At this moment Sydney heard a footstep in the rear 
of the studio, and glancing in the direction, saw Mr. 
Meredith standing, apparently transfixed with amaze- 
ment. His eyes were fixed upon the man at the easel, 
and evidently did not see Sydney. 

Parkinson transferred his gaze to the mysterious 
painter ^gain, and finding him still placidly at work, 
was wrought up to such a tension of rage that he could 


88 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


no longer contain himself. Taking another stride 
toward the easel, so as to bring himself within arm’s 
length of the painter, he raised his hand and struck 
out with all the strength he possessed. His fist came 
in contact with a hard substance, and he awoke to find 
the old gentleman standing over him, holding in his 
hand a lamp, the light of which glowed into Sydney’s 
face. 

“ What’s the matter, my boy ?” inquired Meredith. 

Having a nightmare ?” 

“Oh, I have had such a horrible dream,” replied 
Sydney, “ or rather, a series of dreams, and they — at 
least the last one — seemed so real that I can scarcely 
yet bring myself to believe that it was all a dream.” 

“ I thought you must be having something of the 
kind, for I never heard a man make such a noise in his 
sleep in the whole course of my life. I actually thought 
you were dying. It’s the result of your fever, my boy 
— and lying on your back. Never sleep on your back 
unless you want to have bad dreams.” 

Sydney then related his dreams, and in such a vivid 
manner that his friend was almost as deeply affected 
as the dreamer himself had been. 

So strongly impressed was the artist with the reality 
of his dreams that he could not be satisfied until he 
had taken the lamp from the old gentleman and gone 
into the studio and reconnoitered. 




CHAPTER X. 

THE PICTURED FACE. 

Mr. Meredith watched the young- man’s movements 
with mingled amusement and concern. He could not 
help being amused at the manner in which he poked 
about the studio, light in hand, peeping into every nook 
and cranny, as though he expected to find some of the 
hideous creatures of his vision lurking there ; and he 
was somewhat concerned lest the young man’s troubles 
were undermining his reason. At length the old gen- 
tleman thought proper to put an end to what he looked 
upon as very foolish conduct, and said : 

“ Now, my boy, don’t you think we had better return 
to bed ? We both need rest, especially you.” 

“Yes, pretty soon,” replied Sydney, trying the door 
for the twentieth time, and taking another peep behind 
some heap of canvas that leaned against the wall. 

“ This looks like child’s play to you, no doubt ; but 
those horrible dreams have worked upon my mind, so 
that I am positive I sha’n’t be able to sleep if I do re- 
tire. However, do not let me hinder you from going 
to bed, my friend.” 

“ But you, my boy, are in greater need of sleep than 
I am. A few hours’ sleep will do wonders with both 
of us.” And the old man yawned sleepily. 


[89] 



90 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


“Yes, a few hours’ rest will refresh ns, Mr. Mere- 
dith ; and in the morning — or rather this morning — 
when we arise, we can resume our search with renewed 
vigor and — Great Heaven !” 

“What is it?” And the old man jumped at the 
artist’s exclamation as though an apparition had sud- 
denly stepped out before him. 

Sydney had approached the picture and now stood 
before it. A deadly pallor had spread over his face, 
and he stood with outstretched, trembling hand, point- 
ing toward the canvas, but appeared unable to utter a 
word. 

The old gentleman came near, and screening his 
eyes from the flaring light, scrutinized the painting. 
But he was unable to discover the cause of the artist’s 
agitation, and repeated: 

“What is it ?” 

“ Don’t you see !” gasped Sydney, pointing with his 
trembling finger at a certain face among a group on 
the canvas. “ Look at that face ! It is hers /” 

The subject of the picture was “ The Inspired 
Chorister,” and Florence had been made the central 
figure. 

Examining the picture more closely, the other saw 
what the artist meant, and started back with an ex- 
pression of astonishment and awe. 

“ It , is Florence’s face !” he exclaimed. But his 
agitation was clearly the outgrowth of that of the young 
man’s, for a moment later he said: “Well, what of it, 
Sydney ? You painted the picture.” 

“Yes, but I did not paint that face,” he declared 
excitedly. “ I had only made a rough sketch of that 
figure, and now look at it ! It is a speaking likeness 
of Florence. It is the work of — ” 

“ The ghost,” interposed the old man, laughing. 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


91 


Sydney shuddered. 

The recollection of his dream came upon him so 
vividly that he could not dispel the delusion that there 
was a foundation of reality about it. It did not occur 
to him that the other artist could have done the work 
during his absence that day. 

He could not help associating the pictured face with 
his dream. 

But a second later he realized how absurd the idea 
was, and he turned abruptly from the easel and 
strode toward the rear of the studio. Entering the 
bedroom, he threw himself upon his couch without 
undressing and strove to compose himself to slumber, 
Meredith also came in a moment later, and, lying down 
upon the other couch, was soon snoring lustily in spite 
of his late perturbation. 

There was no sleep for Sydney, however. For more 
than two hours he lay there tossing and vainly trying 
to sleep. It was no use. His mind was too much dis- 
turbed with the events of the past day or two to permit 
of such a thing. Finally he abandoned the attempt, 
arose, made his toilet and went out upon the street. 

It was still early and few people were yet abroad. 
Sydney strolled on, neither knowing nor caring where 
he went. On, on, he went, getting farther and farther 
away from his studio, but he heeded it not. Block 
after block was passed, and soon the streets began to 
fill with pedestrians, but he passed them unheedingly, 
as one walking in a dream might have done. He had 
unconsciously got into Fifth Avenue, and was follow- 
ing that great thoroughfare toward the upper end of 
the city. 

At length he ceased to meet the throng. He had 
come to that portion of the street inhabited by the 
rich, and the houses were still closed, and the inmates 


92 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


— if, indeed, they were in the city — still locked in 
slumber. 

At length, either from a half-conscious sense of 
weariness (for he was going up hill) or some other 
cause which he himself could not have explained, he 
turned into a side street. Having done so, he pursued 
his course in this direction unremittingly for some dis- 
tance. He was going toward the east side of the city, 
and soon came into the poorer quarter. How far he 
went in this direction, or how far he would have gone, 
he never could have told, had he not come at length to 
a place where the street was closed, and he turned 
uptown again. But he only walked a block in this di- 
rection, when some occult power seemed to impel him 
to turn toward the east once more. Here he came upon 
a school building, and swarms of boys and girls of all 
ages filled the street. For some inexplicable reason he 
felt like shunning the laughing, romping throng. Per- 
haps their sunshine and gladness increased the bitter- 
ness of his soul by contrast. At all events, he crossed 
the street to avoid them. But he had no more than 
done so, when his eyes, as he glanced up furtively, met 
a sight which caused him to stop short and to hold his 
breath for an instant. 

There, coming directly toward him, was a woman. 
She walked with her eyes bent upon the ground, as he 
had been in the habit of doing, but when Sydney 
crossed the street and came within a few yards of her, 
she raised her eyes to his face. Then it was that the 
young artist paused and his heart ceased to beat. The 
woman was Florence ! 

Sydney was too much startled and awed to speak or 
do anything but stare, and the girl appeared to be in 
the same condition. This continued for perhaps a min- 
ute, when the artist regained his presence of mind, and 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


93 


made a quick movement toward her with outstretched 
hands, crying : 

“ Florence ! At last !” 

But, to his unutterable surprise and dismay, instead 
of responding or even allowing him to approach, the 
girl turned and fled like a wild fawn. 

Sydney was bewildered. He did not know what to 
make of her conduct. Could it be possible that she 
did not recognize him ? No, he reflected a little later, 
this was not possible. And then suddenly the truth 
flashed upon him. Florence had recognized him, and 
that was the very reason she had fled from him. And 
the fact that she was the wife of another, and that he 
had no claim upon her affections, never came upon 
him in its true reality till that moment. But it stood 
before him vividly enough now, and he saw how foolish 
he had been to waste his time and torture his soul in 
trying to find a woman who was not only the lawful 
wife of another man but who spurned him to such a 
degree as to flee at sight of him. 

With these bitter reflections weighing upon him, the 
artist turned and proceeded to retrace his steps in the 
direction of his studio. He walked as far as Fifth 
Avenue only, however, when his sense of fatigue came 
so strongly upon him that he took passage in the first 
down-going stage that came along, and in the course 
of a few minutes he found himself back at the studio. 

Mr. Meredith was up, and anxiously awaiting his 
return. Sydney deemed it prudent to say nothing of 
the incident just recorded, and after explaining that he 
had gone out for a walk, without any of its details, the 
two friends left the studio and sought the restaurant 
for their breakfast. 

“ I have been thinking,” began the old gentleman, 
after they had exhausted the ordinary topics upon 


94 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


which they had been engaged, that the best thing we 
can do is to procure the services of a regular detective." 

What for ?’’ inquired Sydney, absently. 

“ Well," rejoined the other, “ to try to find some trace 
of Florence. I have come to the conclusion that we 
shall never be able to do it without assistance." 

Sydney shrugged his shoulders with an air of indiffer- 
ence. 

“ So far as I am concerned," he returned, I don’t 
know but your suggestion is a good one. As regards 
Florence, however — " 

He stopped abruptly, and his companion looked at 
him inquiringly ; and as the artist did not appear in- 
clined to proceed, he finally said : 

“ ‘ As regards Florence,’ you were saying, Sydney ?" 

Another shrug, and then : 

I don’t see why I should trouble myself about her." 

The look of pain which his observation had caused to 
come into the old man’s face might have given him a 
twinge of remorse, if he had remarked it ; but the 
young man was staring into space at that moment, and 
saw nothing of the effect of his words. 

“ Why, what on earth do you mean, Sydney ?’’ cried 
the old gentleman in a tone of horror. “ Why shouldn’t 
we trouble ourselves about her, my boy ?’’ 

“For the simple reason," retorted Sydney, rather 
curtly, which reflected the bitterness of his soul, “ if 
you must know the truth, sir, that Florence is too well 
satisfied where she is to bother about us." 

“What makes you think that, Sydney?" questioned 
the other with a pained and perplexed countenance. 

“ It is not a matter of opinion," was the cool reply. 

“ I know it." 



CHAPTER XL 

NEW ACQUAINTANCES. 

Mrs. McQuade was not an unkindly woman, though 
she was exceedingly businesslike, so much so that she 
had been known to steel her susceptible heart against 
sentiment when she found it likely to interfere with 
an advantageous bargain. She was also a woman who 
never for an instant lost sight of propriety. But 
whether this was inspired solely by her rigid business 
principles, as she had been accused by certain unchari- 
table people, I shall not attempt to decide. Of course, 
policy no less than piety would counsel a woman of 
her sterling perspicacity to admit no one to her house 
whose character was such as to cause regular and 
prompt-paying boarders to leave. It is not to be won- 
dered at, then, that Mrs. McQuade was a trifle inquisi- 
tive touching Florence's antecedents, when the girl 
applied for board and lodging in the McQuade estab- 
lishment. Not only did she put Florence through a 
severe catechism regarding her past life and moral 
character, but also incidentally, and in a delicate way, 
her present financial status. 


[95] 



96 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


Poor Florence ! It was a severe ordeal for her. It 
was her first contact with the sharp, jagged edges of 
the practical world, and she had never learned to dis- 
semble. She still believed in the obsolete aphorism 
that “ honesty is the best policy.” She knew* it to be 
the best principle, and had never stopped to consider 
the distinction between principle and policy. 

Mrs. McQuade was a large, portly woman, with a 
double chitt, bleached hair and a superfluity of jewelry. 
Her eyes were a trifle watery, but alert, and her mouth 
broad and straight-cut, without a line or curve of weak- 
ness in it. She swept into the half-darkened parlor 
into which Florence had been shown, and where she 
sat huddled into a corner of a great chair, limp, crushed 
and trembling with apprehension, and towering over 
the cringing girl like some great barbarian queen, 
asked: 

“ Did you wish to see me, madam ?” 

Florence had never been addressed as “ madam ” 
before, and it gave her an unpleasant start, for she 
somehow imagined this woman had already discovered 
her secret. 

“Ye-es, ma-am,” faltered the girl. “I — I — would 
like to engage board for — for — a little while, if you’ve 
no objection.” 

Her half-frightened manner would have convinced 
any other person than Mrs. McQuade of the girl’s want 
of experience, but that acute woman of the world 
thought she saw something behind all this, and at once 
jumped to the conclusion that there w*as something 
wrong. However, after staring at Florence for a min- 
ute or so, she condescended to become sufficiently gra- 
cious to smile indulgently upon her, after which she 
flopped down upon a chair at her side and gave her 
another stare of oily solicitude. 


tr' 

O 

w 


H 


O 









THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


97 


“ Look a-here,” she began, “ if I ’m not mistaken, 
you 're in trouble, young lady. Am I right ? But I 
know I am, and you ’d as well tell me all about it first 
as last. You needn’t have no fear of its going any far- 
ther, and you ’ll find no better friend than Nancy Mc- 
Quade, if I do say it myself.” 

The poor girl looked at her in speechless amazement. 
What manner of person was this, to have discovered 
the secret she imagined to be locked in her own heart 
beyond the penetration of any human besides her- 
self ? 

“Yes, ma’am,” the girl faltered at last, glancing tim- 
idly at the elephantine oracle towering over her. “ I 
am in a little trouble. That is — ” 

“ I knew it,” interrupted the woman. “ I knew it the 
moment I set e)^es on you. Who is the man ?” 

This demand frightened Florence unutterably. She 
did not quite comprehend the woman’s drift, but her 
question conveyed a vague meaning of something sinful 
and repugnant to the innocent girl’s mind, and she 
responded quickly : 

“ My husband, ma’am.” 

The woman pursed her lips and bestowed a glance 
of scornful pity upon Florence. 

“ Oh, yes,” she muttered, in what was obviously in- 
tended for a tone of sympathy. “That’s what they all 
say, poor souls ! Deserted ye, I s’pose ?” 

The implication of the utterance, as well as the pat- 
ronizing spirit in which it was made, stung the girl 
deeply and aroused her indignation. 

“ No, he did not desert me !” she retorted, with spirit. 
“ I— I— left him !” 

“Ah ! Oh, well, it’s the same thing !” said the land- 
lady, with a scornful toss of her bronze curls. “ Made 
it so hot for ye that ye had to get out, I reckon ?” 


98 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


Florence was in a sad dilemma. Every utterance of 
hers was only plunging- her deeper into the tangled 
complication, and there was no hope of extricating 
herself but by detailing the account of her strange ad- 
venture. But would it be discreet or politic to do this ? 
Could she trust this woman with her secret ? And 
while she was struggling with her conflicting emotions 
the woman interrupted her with : 

“ You’d as well tell me all about it, young lady. You 
kin trust me as your own mother, and the sooner we 
understand each other the better it ’ll be for both. 
Only don’t try to hide nothing from me, for I kin read 
folks’ minds like a book. Don’t lay all the blame onto 
hiiUy or anything like that, for I know human natur’ as 
I know my A B C’s.” 

It was a cruel task for the poor girl, and it cost her 
the greatest effort of her life to do it ; but spurred to 
the effort by the woman’s insinuating solicitude, coupled 
with her own conscious innocence, she undertook the 
task and succeeded beyond her hopes. Beginning with 
the accidental meeting with the young artist in Europe, 
she related the strange story of her courtship down to 
the time of her unwilling marriage and her coming 
to New York with him ; of her discovery of what ap- 
peared to be his falseness, and finally of her resolve to 
leave him forever. 

The woman heard it all through with commendable 
patience, mingled with a slight shade of incredulity, 
and at its conclusion said : 

“ Then your parents were willing for the marriage ?” 

“ Oh, yes,” replied Florence, timidly. “ You see, 
they believed, as I did, that he was a perfect gentle- 
man, and, so far as we know, he is. Only somehow he 
did not seem to be the same man I had been betrothed 
to, and the more I thought the matter over, the more 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


99 


fully convinced I became that I could never love or live 
with him.” 

“ Humph !” growled the woman. She was evidently 
disappointed, for even her practical, unsympathetic 
mind could not help recognizing the truth of every 
utterance the girl had made. Her simplicity and child- 
like reliance proved that beyond the possibility of a 
doubt. “ What d’ye propose doing ?” she asked. 

“There is but one thing for me to do,” replied Flor- 
ence, “ and that is to stay here or some place for a few 
days, and in the meantime write home to papa for 
money to take me home.” 

“You have no money, then?” caught up the wily 
landlady, quickly. 

“Oh, yes — a little,” rejoined the girl, simply. 
“Enough, I hope, to pay my board till I hear from 
home.” 

“ Um !” grumbled the woman. “ It ’s purty expensive 
living in the city, you know. How long will it take to 
get an answer from your folks, d’ ye think ?” 

“ Not more than three or four days, 1 think.” 

“ Yes ? How much money have you got ?” 

Florence, in her simplicity, took her purse from her 
pocket and counted over the change therein con- 
tained. 

“Almost five dollars,” she said, looking up, with an 
exultant smile. But when she encountered the in- 
dexible, calculating face of the landlady, her spirits 
sank. 

“ My rates are eight dollars a week,” interposed Mrs. 
McQuade, with a business air, “ invariably in advance, 
and I take nobody for less than a week.” 

Florence drew a deep sigh and gazed at her help- 
lessly. 

»‘you see,” pursued the woman, coldly, “you haven’t 


100 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


got any baggage to speak of, and I can’t afford to take 
no risks.” 

Florence was silent. And then, after a little reflec- 
tion, she concluded the interview was at an end, and 
arose dispiritedly and took up her little hand-bag. 

“You may find a cheaper place,” volunteered Mrs. 
McQuade, in the same tone of forced sympathy. 
“ But,” and it seemed as if a sudden impulse had found 
its way into her gross anatomy, “ see here, I s’pose your 
folks have got money ?” 

“ Plenty of it,” replied Florence, brightening with 
fresh hope. 

“ Rich ?” questioned the other. 

“Yes, ma’am; my father is considered about the 
richest man in our part of the country.” 

“ And you think there ’s no doubt that they ’ll send 
you money purty soon 7 ” 

“ I know they will — as soon as they hear from me.” 

The woman reflected for some moments, and her 
spirit of greed got the ascendency of her usual discre- 
tion. She evidently disliked to miss an opportunity for 
gain, even at the risk of losing a trifle in the event of 
Florence’s story turning out false. But to the girl’s 
unsuspecting mind the change had been wrought in the 
woman by no other motive than pure motherly 
sympathy. 

“ Well,” she said, in a patronizing tone, “ .seeing that 
you are a stranger and haven’t got no friends in the 
city, I guess I ’ll let you stop with me for a little while 
— till you hear from your folks.” 

The poor girl could find no words to express her 
gratitude, and could scarcely refrain from throwing her 
arms about the woman’s neck and kissing her. She did 
go to the extent of grasping her large, red, moist hand 
and wringing it, while tears of heartfelt thankfulness 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


101 


Streamed down her cheeks. But the woman put her 
aside with good-natured, self-sacrificing indifference, 
as though her whole life had been devoted to just such 
acts of unselfih goodness, and, after taking the last 
penny Florence possessed, showed her up to a room. 

It was a stuffy, cramped little box of a room, lighted 
and ventilated with but one small window, which 
opened into a dim, sour-smelling air-shaft. The little 
furniture there was in the apartment was old-fashioned, 
battered and frayed, and to add to her further discom- 
fort, Florence noticed that there was a pale, sickly 
looking girl, who, the landlady explained, was to share 
the room and the narrow, comfortless bed with her. 

“ This is Miss Forsythe, Mrs. — Mrs. — What did you 
say your name was ?” interrogated the landlady. 

“ Florence Meredith,” replied the girl, timidly. 

“You two’ll have to git along together,” pursued 
Mrs. McQuade ; and having done her whole duty, the 
excellent lady flounced out of the room, leaving the two 
girls together. 

Miss Forsythe darted a quick, inquiring glance at 
Florence as soon as the door had closed on the land- 
lady, and was a little startled at her pink cheeks and 
sweet, innocent face, with its frank, childish eyes. 
There might have been a twinge of envy in the poor, 
starved heart as she contrasted the face with her own 
pallid one, and it is certain that she glanced at her own 
faded dress after taking an inventory of Florence’s 
costly garment, and then she bent her poor, weary eyes 
upon her sewing again and tried to forget that there 
were happier people in the world than herself. And 
when Florence looked at the pinched, sallow face, the 
great, hollow, hungry eyes, and the starved-looking 
body, her gentle heart was touched with compassion. 
Her dread and repugnance vanished together, and she 


102 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


felt that she would like to do something for the poor 
creature, whom she assumed at once to be friendless. 
She felt that she would like to be a friend to her, and 
have her friendship in return, for the sad, worn face 
looked susceptible of sympathy. But how should she 
approach her ? How was she to break the ice ? And 
she decided to await an opportunity, which she was 
sure would present itself in time. Meanwhile she took 
off her hat and hung it on a vacant peg she found on 
the wall, and then stopped in front of the wretched 
little mirror long enough to glance at herself and 
brush her curls back from her forehead. After that 
she took off her sacque and looked about for a place to 
hang it up, but finding none, turned to her room-mate 
with the laughing inquiry : 

“ Where do you hang things. Miss Forsythe ?” 

The girl arose wearily and, taking the garment, 
opened a door which Florence had failed to notice be- 
fore, and which opened into a closet. Florence no- 
ticed that the closet was empty with the exception of 
one or two poor articles of clothing. 

“ I hang my things in there — what few there are,” 
explained the girl. 

There was a note of pathos in the thin, piping voice 
and the hopeless resignation of the girl’s manner that 
touched Florence, and her sympathetic heart went out 
to her. 

Again she struggled for a means of approaching the 
girl, and, at length, thought she had discovered one. 

“ Have you boarded here long ?” she inquired. 

“ Oh, I don’t board here,” replied Miss Forsythe, look- 
ing up with a quick, nervous movement, for she had 
again seated herself to her sewing. “ I only room 
here.” 

“ Oh !” 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


103 


And Florence found herself at a standstill again. 

“ 1 used to board here,” pursued the girl, in a weary . 
voice, “but I was making more money then. Since I 
lost my place in the store and have had to depend on 
such odd jobs of sewing as 1 can get, I could not afford to 
pay my board ; but Mrs. McQuade allowed me to keep 
the room.” 

“ You have to pay for that, don’t you ?” inquired Flor- 
ence, curiously. 

“Yes, but she only charges me three dollars for that.” 

“ Three dollars for the privilege of staying in such 
a wretched place !” mused Florence. And then she 
asked, in her ingenuous way: “ But what do you do for 
your meals ?” 

“ Oh, dear, don’t ask me that !” murmured the girl, 
with a sad smile. “ It will sound strange to such as 
you for me to tell you that it often happens that I don’t 
have any.” 

“ Don’t have anything to eat?” gasped Florence, with 
a look of horror. 

“ Often,” affirmed the other. 

“ But that is only once in a while, and just a single 
meal ?” 

“No, indeed. I frequently go for days together 
without a mouthful. But I shouldn’t be telling you 
this, for you can take no interest in such as I am.” 

“ I do take an interest in you,” declared Florence, 
the tears starting in her eyes, “and — and I would like 
to be your friend, if — if you would let me, although just 
now I am as poor as yourself. But when you haven’t 
anything to eat why don’t you go to the landlady and 
tell her just how you are situated ? I am sure she would 
gladly help you.” 

The girl stole a queer glance at Florence, and her 
expression seemed to say: “Well, you are green I” 


104 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


“ That shows that you don’t know Mrs. McQuade/' 
she murmured, with the same faint smile. “ Not only 
would she give me nothing to eat if I asked her for it, 
but, as likely as not, she would put me out of the room 
for my pains. Indeed, she would put me out at any 
time if I allowed my rent to fall behind. And often I 
have had to pawn my clothing to raise money to pay 
her. I used to have some jewelry, but that all went 
long ago.” 

Florence was saddened by this intelligence more 
than anything that ever came into her happy life. 
She could never have believed that there was such 
suffering in the world, and above all, she could not 
have imagined that there were such heartless people 
in the world as this girl described the landlady to be. 
She sank upon a low stool close to the girl and looked 
into her sad face through her tears. 

“ I am very sorry for you,” she said, “ and, as I shall 
soon have money, you shall share it with me. And 
that reminds me that I must write a letter home. I 
wonder where I can get a pen and ink ?” 

“ I have none,” rejoined the girl, sadly. “ I have no 
use for them.” 



CHAPTER XII. 


fanny’s story. 

After a good deal of hesitation, Florence mustered 
sufficient courage to go down and ask the landlady to 
let her have writing materials, in order that she might 
write home for money. Mrs, McQuade was too wide 
awake to her own interests to refuse the request under 
the circumstances, and not only granted a single sheet 
of very cheap paper and an equally cheap-looking en- 
velope, but even gave the girl a stamp, all of which it 
was understood she was to repay as soon as her money 
should arrive. 

Florence then sat down and wrote as long a letter as 
her limited supply of paper would permit, filling in all 
the margins and corners, and still not having written 
half of wffiat she had to tell. The letter was written to 
her father, and she related all the circumstances, as far 
as space would permit, that had happened since their 
separation at the little station at Jonesboro. She finally 
mentioned the fact that she had left her husband, and 
waited anxiously for her father to send her money to 
take her home. Having completed the letter, placed it 
in the envelope, sealed, addressed and stamped it, she 
took it out, in accordance with the landlady’s directions, 
and posted it in a box on the corner of the street. 

When she got back to the room it had grown quite 
dark in that dingy little place, so much so that she 

[105] 


100 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


could scarcely discern more than the outlines of the 
other girl, and yet the poor creature was sitting close 
to the window and stitching away in the dim light. 

“ Why, Miss Forsythe,” she exclaimed, “ I don’t see 
how you can sew in the dark ! You’ll ruin your eyes.” 

“ Oh, I’m used to it,” rejoined the other, with forced 
cheerfulness. “ I don’t mind it.” 

“ But have you no lamp ?” 

Yes, there is a lamp over there, but I like to sew as 
long as I can by daylight, to save the oil.” 

“ Doesn’t the landlady furnish you with light ?” asked 
Florence, in surprise. 

“ Indeed she doesn’t. She used to when I was a 
boarder, but now she says she can’t afford it for three 
dollars a week, especially as I work at night and use a 
good deal of oil. She ought to furnish you a lamp, 
though, as you are a boarder.” 

At this juncture the supper-bell rang, and it filled 
Florence with a sort of dread and misgiving, for she 
knew the other girl could not go with her. 

“ That ’s your supper,” admonished MivSS Forsythe. 
“ You’d better go down, as the landlady doesn’t like 
to wait for anybody.” 

“ But you are going — to — your supper, aren’t you ?” 
faltered Florence. 

“ No, not this evening,” returned the girl. “ I ’m not 
hungry. Go and get your supper, dear.” 

Florence saw that it was useless to say anything fur- 
ther on the subject, as she was only harrowing up both 
their minds by doing so, and with a regretful glance at 
the poor girl, left the room. 

When Florence entered the dining-room she was 
graciously received by the landlady, and a series of 
impudent stares from the two long rows of boarders, 
mostly men, who lined the long table. Florence was 


'THE MEREDiTrt MARRIAGE. 


107 


at a loss to understand the former, and was so abashed 
by the latter that she felt her cheeks burn, and she was 
unable to raise her eyes from her plate during the meal. 
The meal was rather a frugal affair, and as the unwel- 
come attention the girl received from the other guests 
took away what appetite she had, she soon left her 
place at the table and started to return to her room. 
But by the time she reached the parlor floor she found 
the landlady at her heels. 

“ I wish you would step into the parlor a moment, 
Mrs. Meredith,” said the landlady, graciously. “ I would 
like to speak to you.” 

Wondering what the woman could want to speak to 
her about, Florence followed her into parlor. 

“ What I desired to say was this,” began Mrs. Mc- 
Quade, in a confidential tone, as soon as they were 
seated : “When I put you in the room with Miss For- 
sythe, it was the only room I had, because I expected 
another party this evening, but now I find they are not 
coming, and I can put you into a much better room, 
where you will be alone. I know that will suit you 
better.” 

“ But the price, Mrs. McQuade ?” ventured Florence. 

“ Will be the same — \.o you^ my dear,” interposed the 
woman. 

“Nevertheless,” protested the girl, “it will make 
more trouble and expense for you, and — ” 

“ Don’t mention it. I know that you have been used 
to better accommodations than you are getting in that 
little cubbyhole, and I propose that you shall have the 
best my house can afford. I think I know a lady when 
I see one.” 

“ But that poor girl ?” again objected Florence. “ I 
have taken an interest in her, and I think she has in 
me, and I dislike to leave her.” 


108 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


“Pooh !” sneered the good woman. “ What do you 
want to bother your precious head about that creature 
for ? She is nobody ! A mere sewing-girl, that can 
scarcely rake money enough together to pay her rent, 
and hasn’t enough to buy a meal’s victuals half the time.” 

“ For that reason more than any other I do not like 
to leave her.'"’ 

“ My dear young lady, you are making a great mis- 
take. I tell you she is not worth your while. She 
used to have fine dresses and loads of jewelry ; and 
now where are they ? All gone to her uncle’s !” 

“ Indeed !” cried the innocent girl, in horror. “ Has 
she an uncle who is mean enough to take her clothing 
and jewelry 

The landlady laughed. 

“What a poor, silly child you are !” she said. “I 
mean the pawnshop. She has pawned everything she 
possessed nearly, and if you remain with her long, she 
will have your things in hock.” 

As the woman spoke she cast a hungry glance at the 
half-dozen valuable rings on Florence’s fingers and at 
the place in her bosom where she had seen the girl re- 
place her gold watch after consulting it while writing 
her letter. Could it be possible that the sight of these 
had had anything to do with working the change in 
the woman’s demeanor toward her ? After some reflec- 
tion, Florence said : 

“Very well, Mrs. McQuade. If you wish it, I shall 
take the other room, provided you will allow me to 
pay a little more for it when my money comes. And 
while I am on the subject, I would like to make an- 
other request.” 

“ Anything, my dear,” rejoined the other, unctuously. 
“ Anything that you request shall be granted. What 
is it ?” 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


109 


“ I wish you would furnish that poor girl her meals 
as long as I stay here, and I shall pay you for it as soon 
as I receive my remittance.” 

The landlady indulged in another gracious laugh. 

“ What a foolish little dear you are, to be sure !” she 
cried. “ Well, if you request it. You know I can re- 
fuse you nothing.” 

“ Oh, thank you, Mrs. McQuade !” cried Florence, 
rapturously. “ You are very good. I don’t know how 
I shall ever repay you. But you shall be well paid, so 
far as money can do it. Just one more request, please.” 

“ Oh, dear, what a tease you are ! I declare you 
could coax a body’s heart and soul away from them. 
But what is it, dear ?” 

“ Won’t you let me take her supper up to her ? It 
will please the poor creature so, and I am sure she 
would feel embarrassed to go down into the dining- 
room before all the boarders.” 

“ I declare !” cried the landlady, rising, “ you will want 
to have the house turned topsy-turvy for that creature 
next ! But never mind ! I can refuse you nothing, 
and it shall be granted. You wait here, and I’ll have 
the servant fetch the tray up to you. It’s a lucky day 
when Fanny Forsythe made your acquaintance, I can 
vouch,” she said, as she departed. 

A few moments later, the servant arrived with a tray 
well laden with the choicest viands the establishment 
could afford. 

“ Sha’n’t I carry it up for ye ?” asked the servant. 

When Florence looked at the size and guessed at the 
probable weight of the tray, she said he might carry it 
as fas as the room door. He did so, and then Florence 
relieved him of it, allowed him to get down the stairs, 
and then knocked at the door. When poor Fanny saw 
the well-filled tray she almost fainted. 


iio 


THE MEREDttH MARRiAG^. 


“ Why, what on earth have you been doing ?” she 
questioned^ breathlessly. 

Ohj nothing/’ iaiighed Florence; ‘‘Just brought 
you a bite to eatj that’s alb” 

“ How absurd ! I told you I wasn’t a bit hungry, 
and—” 

But the eagerness with which she eyed the tempting 
array of dishes belied her words. 

“ But it was so kind of you,” pursued the girl. “ And 
I only a stranger, and — ” 

“ Not a word, my dear,” interrupted Florence, put- 
ting the tray down on a chair, and arranging the 
dishes on the little table. “ I told you I wanted to be 
your friend, but the time came before I expected it. 
There, now, sit down and eat your supper. Gracious, 
what a smoky lamp ! It doesn’t make as much light 
as a piece of chalk in a teacup. But go on and eat, my 
dear. And, say, you ’re to have your meals regular as 
long as I stay here. Won’t that be grand ?” 

“Oh, what a sweet creature you are!” cried the 
other, her eyes filling with tears. “ Really, I never ex- 
pected to find such a friend.” 

Florence was silent for some moments, meanwhile 
watching the half-famished girl eat, and the sight filled 
her with more genuine happiness than she had ex- 
perienced for many a day. At length she said: 

“ Your name is Fanny, isn’t it ?” 

“Yes,” replied the other, looking up from her plate 
with a gentle smile, such as Florence had not seen be- 
fore. “ Will you call me that ?” 

“ I should be glad to,” said the other. “ My name is 
Florence, and I should like it if you would call me that.” 

“ I shall love to, ever so much. But the landlady 
called you missus when she introduced you. Have 
you been married, Florence ?” 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


Ill 


“Yes and no,” rejoined the girl, with a laugh. 

“ Huh ! That ’s funny. But it 's none of my busi- 
ness. Don’t tell me about it unless you want to. But 
it must be nice to be married, and have some one to 
take care of you. I came very near being married 
myself once.” And the girl drew a deep sigh. 

“How was it, Fanny?” inquired Florence. “But, 
there, I am more inquisitive than you. Don’t tell me 
unless you have a mind to.” 

“ I should like to — if you care to hear it.” 

“ I should, ever so much.” 

“ Well, it was while I was working in the store. 
There was a gentleman who used to come every day, 
nearly, to get something, and he would have nobody 
wait on him but me. So we got to be very well ac- 
quainted, and at last he got to waiting for me when I 
came out, and would walk home with me. At length 
he got to taking me to the theatre and other places of 
amusement. Well, finally he asked me to marry him, 
and, as he seemed to be such a nice man, and I hadn’t 
any friends, I accepted him. The wedding was to 
have come off a year ago last May, and I was nearly 
ready, when one day I received a letter from him, say- 
ing that he had been called away to Europe, and I 
needn’t be surprised if I never saw him again. The 
news nearly broke my heart, and it was through my 
despair over it that I lost my place in the store ; and 
from that day to this I haven’t had the ambition to 
look for another situation, and, between you and me, I 
haven’t cared whether 1 lived or died. But your 
friendship, dear, good Florence, has put new life into 
me, and I shall try to make something of myself again.” 

Her story, told in the running, sketchy manner it 
was, nevertheless made a deep impression upon Flor- 
ence, and after asking for a few more little details, she 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


ll'Z 

volunteered to tell her own little romance. At its 
conclusion Fanny asked : 

“ You say he was an artist ?” 

“ Yes,” replied Florence. 

“ That ’s funny !” interjected Fanny. Mine was 
too.” 

“ Indeed ! What was his name ?” 

“ Bernard Livingstone.” 

Florence was too much stunned to speak for several 
minutes. The room swam before her eyes, and she 
was compelled to cling to a chair to prevent herself 
from reeling to the floor. But she managed to calm 
herself with an effort, and asked feebly : 

“ What was he like ?” 

Fanny, who had noticed nothing of her friend’s agi- 
tation, arose and went to a little trunk in one corner of 
the room, and presently returned with a photograph. 

“ There,” she said, “ that is his picture.” 

Florence’s brain reeled again, for the picture was that 
of her husband ! 



CHAPTER XIIT. 

CAUGHT IN THE ACT. 

Sydney Parkinsbn, having- lost all hope of ever re- 
covering Florence, and, indeed, all desire to find her, 
since he had found, as he supposed, that she was con- 
tent with her lot, had very little ambition for anything. 
He did not much care whether he ever completed his 
picture or not ; and, in fact, he would not have turned 
his hand over between life and death at that time. He 
had but one desire in the world, and that was to wreak 
his vengeance upon his double and tormentor. 

He worked in a half-hearted way upon the picture 
during the greater part of the day, and in the afternoon 
went out for a walk. Mr. Meredith complained of not 
feeling well, and so remained behind at the studio. 

Sydney was no more than on the street, when an un- 
conquerable desire seized him to revisit the locality 
where he had seen Florence that morning, and so anx- 
ious was he to reach the place as soon as possible, that, 
instead of walking this time, he took one of the Fifth 
Avenue stages and rode up as far as the street in which 
he had seen the girl. Alighting from the stage at this 
point, he walked at a rapid pace in an easterly direction 
till he came to the school. By this time the school had 

[113] 


114 


THE MEREDITH INIARRIAGE. 


been dismissed and the children had departed, so that 
the street was well-nigh deserted. He walked through 
the street in the direction he had seen Florence go, for 
a distance of several blocks, turned a corner, walked 
uptown a block and came back on the next street, but 
no Florence was to be seen. After strolling about for 
some time through the neighboring streets, watching 
windows, doorways and passing faces, he finally aban- 
doned the undertaking, cursed himself for a fool for 
bothering his head about another man’s wife, and 
walked back to Fifth Avenue. Here he again took a 
stage and rode down as far as Tenth Street. Alighting 
here, he walked rapidly across to University Place. 

Just as he turned into the latter street and was go- 
ing along with his head down, plunged in deep medita- 
tion, he became vaguely conscious that there were 
three men ahead of him. For several moments after 
making the discovery he did not pay enough attention 
to them to notice anything particular about them. At 
length, however, he glanced casually up, and was as- 
tonished to see that one of them was his double and 
the other two the mysterious individuals he had seen 
on the train coming to New York. The unexpected 
discovery had such an effect upon the artist that he 
stopped short. His action attracted the attention of 
the three men, who glanced back at him. As soon as 
they caught sight of him they burst out into a boister- 
ous fit of laughter and resumed their walk with a more 
rapid gait. 

The trio evidently imagined Sydney had been, follow- 
ing them, and to disabuse their minds of such an idea 
he turned abruptly aside and entered a doorway, as 
though he intended stopping there. There was a show- 
case next to the window, and he could look through 
this and watch the retreating figures without being 


I'kE MEREDITH MaRRIAGE. 


115 


observed himself. He watched them for some time, 
and saw them enter the building in which his studio 
was located. As soon as they disappeared inside Syd- 
ney emerged from his place of concealment and has- 
tened to the entrance of the studio building. He 
arrived at the entrance in time to see the men ascend- 
ing the stairs, and, allowing them time to reach the 
top of the second flight, he entered and went up the 
stairs, but keeping a couple of flights behind them to 
avoid attracting their attention. 

“What will be the result, I wonder,” he mused, 
“ when they find the old gentleman in the studio — if 
they intend going in ?” 

But he was not to remain in doubt on the latter 
point long, for by the time he reached the top of the 
second flight of stairs he saw his double open the studio 
door and the three go in. As soon as the door was 
closed Sydney hastened to the top of the building, but 
instead of entering the studio, he first fastened the 
door on the outside with the huge padlock, which he 
had left hanging in the staple ; and then taking a step- 
ladder which stood in the hall, put it up to a small 
porthole or ventilator there was in the wall. This 
aperture furnished a view of the interior of the studio, 
and he climbed up the ladder and put his eyes to it. 

The three men stood near the easel, examining and 
commenting upon the picture as though it belonged to 
them. 

“ It is going to be a grand thing,” observed the light 
young man. “ But how soon do you think you will have 
it completed ?” 

“ With no interruption, I can finish it in about three 
or four days,” replied Sydney's impersonator. 

This was astonishing intelligence to the young artist, 
for he knew that he could not finish the picture, work 


110 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


as he would, inside of two weeks. Still, if the fellow 
could paint as fast continuously as he had done on the 
face of Florence Meredith, there was no telling- what 
he could accomplish in three days. That face alone 
would have cost Sydney several days’ arduous labor, and 
this man had accomplished it in two or three hours at 
most. 

“ But,” pursued the fair young man, “ you must ex- 
pect interruptions. It is not to be expected that you 
will not. However, this will be, in a measure, compen- 
sated for by the few odd strokes which the young man 
will put in himself.” 

Sydney ground his teeth with rage. The “ young 
man ” alluded to was undoubtedly meant for himself, 
and this conversation was being held about the picture 
which he had conceived and, with the exception of the 
work which the mysterious artist had put upon it with- 
in the last few days, brought to its present stage of de- 
velopment ; and yet they spoke of it as if it had been 
the creation of the other man. It was with a severe 
effort that Sydney restrained himself from jumping 
down from the ladder, entering the studio and denoun- 
cing the conspirators, as he now conceived them to be. 
But his curiosity to see to what lengths they would go, 
as well as the hope of getting a clue to Florence’s 
whereabouts (for, strive as he would, he could not 
divest himself of this ambition), impelled him to watch 
and listen instead of acting. 

“Yes, he will do something on it in the meantime,” 
admitted the mysterious artist, “ but he -works intoler- 
ably slow. By the way, what do you think of the face 
— painted from memory, too ?” 

“ Marvelous !” ejaculated both of the artist’s com- 
panions in a breath. “ It lives !” added the dark 
man. 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


117 


“ And yet he would not have done it, with a model, 
in a week.” 

“ Neither do I believe you would, either,” interjected 
the light man. “ That face is an inspiration.” 

“ That is exactly what the critics will say,” supple- 
mented the dark man. 

“ And give the artist credit for haAng painted his 
model to the life,” laughed the artist. 

“ Undoubtely,” rejoined the dark man. “But his 
fame will suffer nothing from the misapprehension. 
The work is there.” 

“ That is true,” corroborated the light man, enthusi- 
astically. “ It will carry the town by storm and im- 
mortalize the artist.” 

“ There is little doubt of that,” said the dark man, 
thoughtfully ; and, after a pause, in a musing tone : 
“ I wonder what the poor devil will say or think.” 

“ That the spirits are at work, most likely,” laughed 
the artist. 

This was more than Sydney could endure. He had 
heard enough to convince him that there was a conspir- 
acy on foot to assist him in finishing his picture, which 
was the dream of his life, and then stealing it away and 
profiting by his skill and inspiration. This was enough 
without the additional insult implied in the belittling 
epithet, “ poor devil.” But this latter served to call up 
and exaggerate all the persecutions and annoyances he 
had suffered at this man’s hands, and the thought mad- 
dened him. He could contain himself no longer. De- 
scending the ladder in one or two strides, he sprang at 
the door, hastily unfastened the padlock and flung it 
open. 

As he did so, Livingstone’s two companions hurried 
past him and vanished through the door before Sydney 
had time for a second thought, leaving the mysterious 


118 


'THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


artist at the easel — alone. The old gentleman had 
just emerged from the bedroom, and, as Sydney looked, 
was walking toward the artist at the easel, evidently 
mistaking him for Parkinson. Livingstone, meanwhile, 
had taken up the palette, poised the maul-stick, and 
calmly proceeded to work. 

Parkinson was so incensed at the sight that he was 
on the point of flying at the impostor and attacking 
him, when the old gentleman came between them, and, 
apparently not noticing Sydney, addressed himself to 
the man at the easel. 

“ Howdy, Sydney ?” he said. “ I didn’t know you ’d 
got back.” 

“Yes,” rejoined the other, “ I did not remain out as 
long as I expected. I have just returned.” 

In spite of the rage the fellow’s coolness caused him, 
Sydney could not help admiring his impersonator’s ob- 
vious bravery in daring to enter his studio in broad 
daylight and to calmly stand there, when he must have 
known that he was in imminent peril of his life. And 
then Parkinson began to consider seriously whether 
the fellow was not demented. Surely no sane man 
would have ventured so much. Besides, he thought, 
what could be his motive ? These bewildering 
thoughts, flashing, one after the other, through his 
mind, caused him to stay his hand, but when the im- 
postor began to converse with his old friend, assuming 
his (Parkinson’s) character, Sydney could restrain him- 
self no longer, and made a move toward his double. 
But as he did so, Mr. Meredith turned, and, beholding 
Parkinson standing so close to him, grew livid with 
rage. He mistook him for Livingstone. It was the 
first time he had seen them together. 

“ Never mind,” interjected the impostor, reassuringly. 

“ Don’t be afraid of him. He will do you no harm. 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


119 


However, to put an end to this unpleasant business, 
Mr. Meredith, I ’ll just step down and get an officer 
and have him arrested.” 

With that, and before Sydney could recover from his 
surprise sufficiently to interpose an objection, the fellow 
strode calmly out of the door and disappeared. 

It was not until then that the artist recovered his 
presence of mind enough to move, and he dashed after 
his tormentor. But when he got into the hall, he found 
that the other had too much the start of him and had 
already, reached the foot of the stairs. Nevertheless 
he hastened down and reached the street in time to see 
his impersonator turn the corner, a block away. Sydney 
realized the futility of attempting to overtake him, and 
gave up the chase. The fellow’s persistency satis- 
fied the artist that he would have plenty of oppor- 
tunities of meeting him, and so concluded to bide his 
time. 

As he walked back to the studio, Sydney reflected 
upon the best mode of procedure. He knew the old 
man would expect him to return with an officer, and 
he must have ready an excuse for not fetching one. A 
moment’s thought was sufficient for his purpose, and, 
assuming as calm a demeanor as possible, he ascended 
the stairs and entered the studio. Mr. Meredith, as he 
anticipated, was anxiously awaiting his return, and was 
evidently disappointed at seeing him alone. 

“Where is the officer ?” demanded he, eagerly. 

“ I saw no necessit)^ for fetching one,” replied Syd- 
ney, calmly, “inasmuch as you allowed that rascal' to 
escape before I could procure one.” 

This was a master-stroke. It had the double effect 
of removing all suspicion from the old gentleman’s 
mind regarding Sydney’s identity, and of any intention 
on his part of shirking his duty. 


120 


THK MERKDITII MARRIAGE. 


Meredith looked crestfallen. 

“ I ’m very sorry, he murmured,” but the fact is, he 
left so very suddenly that I had no time to detain him, 
even if my streng-th had been equal to it. But I do not 
know why I didn’t throttle the rascal, or at least why 
I didn’t have the presence of mind to demand Flor- 
ence’s whereabouts.” 

He paused, and his face grew pale and grave, while 
his lips quivered painfully. 

Sydney laughed. He recalled that it was himself 
who would have received the choking, if any had been 
indulged in, and he could not refrain from laughing at 
the ludicrousness of the situation. The old gentleman 
stared at him in bewilderment, and Sydney hastened to 
explain. 

“ The man at the easel was not myself,” he said. 
“ That was my double.” 

“ What !” shrieked Meredith. “ Then the man whom 
I mistook for him was, in reality, you !” 

“ Certainly.” 

“ And the one to whom I was talking, and who offered 
to fetch a policeman, was not you ?” 

“ Of course not.” 

The old man shook his head dubiously. 

“ This beats all,” he said. “ And the impudence of 
the fellow to answer to your name and converse with 
me as though he were yourself, and that right in your 
presence !” And then he was suddenly struck with the 
drollness of the situation. “ I say, my boy,” he said, 
as soon as he could recover his gravity, “ hadn’t you 
better examine yourself and make sure of your own 
identity? I declare, even now I should hesitate before 
identifying you at a bank. But confound the fellow ! 
Blessed if I don’t admire his pluck, as well as his con- 
summate effrontery. If he had not played us such a 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


121 


scurvy trick in running- off with Flory, I’ll swear I 
could like the rascal !” 

All of which eulogium was extremely distasteful to 
Sydney, who exhibited unmistakable signs of jealousy. 

“ That he is a rascal,” he said, with a dark scowl 
“ there can be not the shadow of a doubt, but I see 
nothing to commend him in that.” 

“ But you must confess that he is a brave chap and a 
genuis.” 

“ Granting all this, his bravery and genius do not 
offset his rascality.” 

“ Possibly not,” coincided Meredith, not wishing to 
provoke a quarrel, of which there appeared to be some 
danger in Sydney’s present humor. 

“ But the thing that puzzles me,” said the artist, with 
exceeding bitterness of tone, “ is why he should perse- 
cute me thus — I, who have never injured him in the 
slightest degree. It was bad enough for him to blight 
my happiness by marrytng Florence, but that might be 
to some extent extenuated by the old adage that ‘all 
is fair in love,’ but what excuse can he offer for coming 
into my studio unbidden and working upon my 
picture ?” 

“I declare, my boy,” laughed the old man, “aside 
from the consummate impudence of the thing, I see 
nothing so very heinous about that. Bless my stars ! 
If a neighbor should slip over into my field and do my 
harvesting for me, and did it as well as I could do it 
myself, I ’d never quarrel with him for it.” 

“ But, my dear sir, this is quite a different matter,” 
said Sydney, impatiently. “An artist takes pride in 
his work, and when it is done he doesn’t want to feel 
that whatever fame it brings him is due to another’s 
genius. But that is not the worst of it.” 

“ What do you mean ?” 


122 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


Here was Sydney’s opportunity, as he thought, of 
erushing out whatever germs of admiration might have 
been engendered in the old man’s heart for Living- 
stone. He said: 

“ I mean that the three men are just so many con- 
spirators, schemers, not only to rob us of Florence 
(they have accomplished that, however), but to snatch 
whatever laurels I have a chance of winning as an 
artist and appropriating them to themselves — or rather 
to this impersonator of mine.” 

“How do you know this?” 

“ From a conversation I heard between them.” 

“ Where ?” 

“ In this very room, not an hour ago.” 

“ Impossible !” cried the old man, waxing a trifle 
nervous. “ When could they have been in here — the 
other two, I mean ?” 

Sydney recounted the incident of his climbing up the 
ladder and overhearing the conversation between the 
conspirators. “ Did you not hear anyone talking, Mr. 
Meredith ?” he asked in conclusion. 

“ Yes,” rejoined the other, “ I heard some persons 
talking in here, and wondered who it could be. But 
when I got dressed and came out, no one was in sight, 
but yourself and your double. This does look a little 
suspicious, and it may be as you say ; but it is difficult 
to imagine anything unmanly emanating from so brave 
a fellow as that.” 

Sydney bit his lip, but made no reply ; and the old 
man felt at that moment that if he could have been 
certain that Florence was well and happy with her 
husband, he would not have hesitated an instant to give 
them his blessing. 



CHAPTER XIV. 

A CHANGE OF TACTICS. 

Mr. Meredith breathed nothing of his transition of 
sentiment to his young friend, having already discov- 
ered that any complimentary or extenuating allusion 
to his rival was as wormwood to him, and the two friends 
soon after left the studio for dinner. Little conversation 
passed between them, each being absorbed in thought. 
Sydney, in particular, was unusually silent, even to 
moroseness. 

Ten minutes later they seated themselves in a Broad- 
way restaurant, and for some time both were, or ap- 
peared to be, absorbed in their evening papers. A close 
observer would have noticed, however, that neither 
was at his ease and less interested in his newspaper 
than in the subject of his own thoughts. 

At length Sydney threw aside the paper with an im- 
patient movement and glanced across at his com- 
panion. The latter was visibly glad of an excuse for 
doing the same thing, and looked up at the artist in- 
quiringly. 

“ I have an idea,” said Sydney. 

“ Well ?” questioned the other, eagerly. 

“ Laying aside whatever difference of opinion we 
may have with regard to the real character of these in- 

[123] 


124 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


truders of ours, the wisest course we can take, in my 
opinion, is to employ a detective.” 

“ I have been thinking of the same thing,” responded 
Meredith. That is what we should have done at 
first.” 

“ He can, at least, relieve us of the worry,” resumed 
the artist. “ In the first place, I shall remove my pic- 
ture to another studio, where this double of mine will 
not find it, and leave the detective to watch the old 
place. That will give me an opportunity to finish my 
picture in peace, and the detective can take his time 
about catching the rascals. I have a right to have 
them arrested for entering my studio by stealth.” 

“ The idea is a good one,” admitted Meredith, after 
some reflection. “ But, in the meantime, about Flor- 
ence ?” 

“ I cannot see that we can do anything better than 
wait till we have this fellow — my double — in the toils. 
So long as he is a free man, inasmuch as he is legally 
married to her, we really have no right to interfere 
with his possession of her. But the moment he is under 
arrest, if we can then induce him to divulge her where- 
abouts, we may be able to persuade her to leave him, 
and, ultimately, get a divorce from him.” 

“ My dear young friend, you astound me !” cried 
Meredith, sternly. “ We have no means of knowing 
whether Florence is with him or not, much less that 
she is happy. If I could only be assured of this — ” 

Seeing that he was treading on dangerous ground 
again, he checked himself. But he had already said 
enough for Parkinson to catch his drift. 

“ If you could only be assured that she was contented 
and happy,” he interposed, “ you would be safisfied, in 
spite of the fact that she is married to a scoundrel, or, 
what is worse — ” 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


125 


But the quick, pained look which the old man darted 
on him caused him to stop. 

“ There can he no doubt as to the leg-ality of the 
marriage,” he said, in a husky voice, “ even if this man 
did give an assumed name. My only concern is to find 
out whether he is treating her properly, and whether 
she, after discovering the deception practiced upon her 
(assuming that she has discovered it), is still content 
to be his wife. As for yourself, my boy, I feel deeply 
for you. But my greatest concern is to find my daugh- 
ter ; and that I will do if it takes every dollar I pos- 
sess!” 

Sydney bit his lip from vexation, but assuming the 
role at once of philosopher and martyr, he said : 

“You may be right with regard to the marriage. I 
truly hope you are. It will save a good deal of trouble 
all round. But with regard to her being satisfied with 
her lot, there is no speculation about that^ my friend.” 

“ So you imagine.” 

“ So I k7iow .^” 

“ How do you know it ? How can you know it — 
when you have not seen her ?” 

“ But I have seen her.” 

“What!” and the old man nearly bounded out of 
his chair. “ How is it you never mentioned the fact 
before ?” 

“ I did not consider it worth while, for one thing, 
and I knew it would only add to your worry. Listen 
and I ’ll tell you all about it.” 

Sydney then recounted the incident of his wander- 
ing off toward the upper part of the city, of his meet- 
ing Florence, his attempt to approach her, and of her 
running away from him as soon as she recognized 
him. 

“ Do you think she would have done this,” he ques- 


126 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


tioned, in conclusion, “ if she had not been satisfied 
with her lot with this man ?” 

The old man pondered the subject for some time 
before offering any response. Suddenly a light ap- 
peared to break in upon him. His countenance bright- 
ened up, his eyes twinkled, and he began: 

“ I have it ! You are wrong in your theory. You 
forget that Florence is not aware of the fact that there 
are two of you, and when she espied you she mistook 
you for your double. That proves to me that she has 
left him. But I wonder she has not gone home. 
Heavens ! Can it be possible that she has not enough 
money ? My poor child in this great, wicked city with 
neither money nor friends ! This is awful !” and the 
stricken old man buried his face in his hands and gave 
vent to his pent-up feelings. 

Parkinson offered no consolation. Indeed, he had 
none to offer, for between his grief growing out of the 
possible loss of the laurels he had hoped to win with his 
painting and the bitterness of soul and wounded pride 
incident to the fact of another man defeating him in 
his fight for Florence’s affections, there was too much 
self-interest at stake to admit of any great amount of 
sympathy for another. 

At length Mr. Meredith raised his head and resumed 
in a more determined tone than he had ever before 
assumed : 

“ I must leave you to attend to the picture business, 
sir ; my time and energies shall be devoted henceforth 
to finding my daughter. However,” he continued, as 
he encountered Sydney’s face, which was a picture of 
abject helplessness, “ as I am going to Police Head- 
quarters to put the case into their hands, it will be just 
as well for me to engage a detective to watch your 
studio,” 


TliE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


127 


Oil leaving the restaurant, the old gentleman took a 
downtown car, while Sydney returned to his studio. 
He at once set about gathering together such articles 
as he would need in his new quarters, not wishing to 
remove everything, as he had no notion of abandoning 
the place altogether. But he made little progress in 
his task, for two reasons : First, he felt a melancholy 
reluctance to quit the old place, where his best efforts 
had been put forth, even temporarily ; and, secondly, 
he could not tear himself away from the image of his 
adored Florence which had so mysteriously sprung into 
his picture. Strive as he would to drive the recollec- 
tion of it and her from his mind, some occult power 
seemed to chain his mind to one and his eyes to the 
other, and again and again he would find himself un- 
consciously before the enchanting likeness, impelled by 
a devotion akin to that of a devotee to a holy relic. 
And even when he would stubbornly turn his back upon 
it, as he did over and over again, he felt that the won- 
derful eyes were following him, and they would burn 
into his very soul, until he would be compelled to turn 
and look at the picture, when the spell would again 
seize him and draw him, as by magic, in front of it. 
Thus he went on for more than an hour, meanwhile 
scarcely making a start at his work, and each recur- 
rence of the strange infatuation would terminate 
with a keen sense of self-condemnation for his weak- 
ness. 

At length he could endure the torture no longer and 
determined to put an end to it. He would blot the 
maddening shadow from the canvas forever in the for- 
lorn hope of obliterating the image of the original 
from his memory ! To that end he grasped a brush 
and, dipping it into a mass of white paint, made a 
dash toward the easel. But as he raised the brush 


128 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


to commit the terrible iconoclasm, a voice rang in his 
ear : 

“ Stop, madman, what would you do ? Blight the 
wreath just ere it fall upon your brow ? If you would 
be happy and great, neither mar nor remove the canvas 
until the picture is ready for the Exposition !” 

Sydney let the brush fall to the floor. 

It was the admonition of conscience, the voice of his 
own manhood remonstrating against his weakness, 
against his lack of heroism ; for had he possessed this, 
the fair image on the canvas would have been his own 
instead of another’s creation, and the divine original 
would also have been his. 

No one likes to see a true reflex of himself with all 
his littleness and pusillanimity, and the image of him- 
self appeared so contemptible to Sydney Parkinson that 
it angered him more than the repeated recurrence of 
his own weakness or the sight of Florence’s likeness 
had done. And as he turned once more and beheld it 
there, smiling at him from the canvas, he was incensed 
beyond endurance. It had suddenly become hateful to 
him, and the recollection of the subject loathsome and 
unbearable. Once for all he determined to obliterate 
the image, that it at least might no longer plague him. 
Again he snatched up the brush, but at that very instant 
there came a knock at the door. 

He laid aside the brush and opened the door, when 
the old gentleman, followed by two burly detectives, 
walked in. 

“ These gentlemen think they can discover the mys- 
tery,” observed Meredith, indicating the two limbs of 
the law. 

“ What ’s it about the myst’ry ?” growled one, with 
a disdainful glance about the studio. 

Sydney related in detail the strange happenings of 


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THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


129 


the past twenty-four hours, but avoiding the expression 
of any opinion as to the real character of the mysteri- 
ous apparitions. 

“ That ’s a purty ghost-story,” growled one of the 
officers, with a dogged jerk of the head. “ But I reckon 
them ghosts won’t play no tricks on us.” 

“ 1 hope not,” said Sydney, slyly. “ Nevertheless, 
I ’d- advise you to look out for yourselves.” 



CHAPTER XV. 



AN UNEXPECTED ENCOUNTER. 

An individual or an object never has a value until 
two or more persons want it. No man would buy 
an article which nobody else would have, and no 
woman wants a man whom no other woman cares for. 
This is the corner-stone of all fame — the kindling’ 
spark of all jealousy. When Florence saw the photo- 
graph of her husband in another woman’s possession, 
and realized that he had loved, flattered and coddled 
another besides herself, she made two discoveries at 
one and the same moment. She discovered, first, that 
the man whom she had married was not quite such an 
object of disdain as she had imagined ; and, second, 
that she possessed that which she never supposed she 
possessed, namely, jealousy. She knew that she did 
not possess it to any alarming degree, and she also 
knew that her heart glowed with enough of the sun- 
shine of charity and sympathy soon to drive out what- 
ever frost or mildew of jealousy might lurk there. So, 
after the transitory spasm which caused her to hate 
instead of to despise her perfidious husband, and to 
entertain a wee particle of bitterness for her rival, had 
passed, she felt her bosom warm with the same old 
sunshine again, and she despised him with the same 
vehemence and felt as kindly and sympathetic toward 
her as ever. 

[130] 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


131 


Florence did not take the girl into her confidence to 
the extent of telling her that the same man had been 
the author of both their misery. Her charity, broad as 
it was, did not extend quite that far. And perhaps her 
pride may have had something to do with it. So, as- 
suming the role of a disinterested sympathizer, she 
took the bereaved girl to her heart, and proceeded to 
soothe her with such little touches of gentle solicitude 
as only a sweet, guileless nature like her own knows 
how to bestow. 

“ I shouldn’t waste a thought on such a man if I were 
you, Fanny,” she coaxed. “He isn’t worthy of you. 
Besides, you are too young to blight your life with such 
trifles. Learn to forget him, and — and — I ’ll tell you 
what !” she exclaimed, with sudden impulsiveness. 
“ When my money comes, you shall go home with me ! 
I know you will be happy there. We will have the 
whole great big house to ourselves, and we ’ll be just 
like two sisters, and live for nothing but each other’s 
happiness. We will roam the fields together and 
gather flowers, and you won’t have to sew and toil for 
just a little bit of a room like this and a morsel to eat. 
Won’t that be splendid ? I never had a sister, and I 
know it will be just grand !” 

The girl sat with distended eyes while Florence was 
delivering this enthusiastic harangue. She seemed 
unable to comprehend it all, and appeared to doubt 
whether she were not dreaming. She still sat with her 
great, hollow, wondering eyes upon the bright, ingen- 
uous creature before her, and seemed to question 
whether there could really be so much unselfishness in 
this world. S/ie had never encountered anything like 
it before. And then there came just one little cloud of 
skepticism. Was it possible — but no ! This sweet 
creature could have no selfish motive. And if she had, 


id'Z 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


what could she hope to gain from this poor, starved, 
homeless outcast ? 

• “-You are very kind — very, very kind,” she made out 
to falter at last. “ I never thought there was anybody 
in this wicked world with half your goodness, Florence. 
You ’re for all the world like the way they describe 
angels in books. Do you really and truly mean what 
you say ?” 

“ Certainly I do, Fanny. I want you to come home 
with me, and we’ll be, oh, so happy, and you won’t have 
to sit by that dark, old window and sew all day long. 
And we ’ll have a great big room all to ourselves, and 
we can open the window and let in the air and smell of 
the flowers and the, songs of the birds, and we ’ll go out 
into the orchard and gather our aprons full of big ripe 
apples. Won’t that be jolly ?” 

“ Oh, yes !” gasped the poor girl, with a half-delighted, 
half-doubtful look. “ But, Florence, you don’t mean 
that I shall share all this happiness, and — and — not pay 
board ?” 

“ Pooh !” laughed . Florence. “ Nobody thinks of 
charging anything for anything in the country. Every- 
body has all he wants for a thank ye.” 

“ Apples, too ?” 

“ Everything. Besides, you are to be my sister, you 
know, and will have everything that I have.” 

The poor, worn face lighted up as it had not done for 
many a day, and for a brief moment the poor starved 
heart glowed with a warmth that it had been a stranger 
to for many weary years. But gradually the face grew 
hard again ; the old lines of distrust and despair tight- 
tened, and the eyes dulled with the leaden film of skep- 
ticism. 

“ No,” she murmured at last, “ it won’t do. You are 
very good to olfer all this, but I know it won’t do.” 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


133 


“ Why not ?” demanded Florence, with a note of im- 
patience in her voice. “ What is to hinder you ?” 

“ Such happiness is not for me,” murmured Fanny, 
dolefully. “ I was never intended for the like. My 
place is in the city among the other sad creatures. I 
would only sadden your bright life with my sadness, 
and you would soon tire of me and wish I were away. 
And then, when I had to leave all that sunshine and 
happiness — and you — and come back to the old life 
again, it would be more bitter than ever.” 

“ But you would cease to be melancholy there,” 
pleaded Florence. “ You would forget your sad weary 
life, and you would learn to laugh — great, big, out-door 
laughs, and your cheeks would grow rosy, and you 
would soon be as jolly as the rest of us. No, I know I 
should never grow tired of you, for I ’m sure I shall 
love you, and even if you were sick and peevish, I could 
sympathize with you, and my mamma would sym- 
pathize with you and soothe you, for I know that she 
would love you, too.” 

The girl began to waver. She was evidently delighted 
with the picture the innocent girl had painted, but she 
feared that it was only a gorgeous dream-picture and 
would soon melt away and leave the hideous reality 
more hideous than ever. 

“ I wish I knew,” she at length faltered, “ that — that 
you would not be mistaken in me. You do not know 
me, Florence. My nature is not like yours. I am mel- 
ancholy and irritable, and then I have my bad days, 
when my head aches worse than usual, and my heart 
seems like a great lump of lead, and I hate everybody. 
I 'm sure you could not love me then.” 

Florence was about to reply, when there came a rap 
at the door, and the next moment the landlady put her 
head in and announced that Florence’s room was ready, 


134 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


and that if she was ready, she (the landlady) would 
show her to it. Florence whispered something* in 
Fanny’s ear that caused her to smile sadly and nod an 
affirmative, and then kissed the thin, colorless lips and 
bounded away. But she returned a moment later to 
g-ather up her little belongings, and again bidding 
Fanny good night, tripped out of the room. 

None of this was lost on the wily landlady, and she 
took occasion to reprove Florence for what she consid- 
ered her lack of discretion, on the way to her room. 

‘‘You’re making altogether too much of that girl, 
Mrs. Meredith,” she insinuated. “ You ’ll live to regret 
it, mind my words. Put a beggar on horseback and 
he ’ll ride to the Old Nick.” 

“ But you are mistaken in Fanny,” protested Flor- 
ence. “ Fm sure you are, Mrs. McQuade. There never 
was a gentler or more modest and grateful creature 
than she is.” 

“ Gentle, I ’ll warrant ye !” sneered the good woman. 
“ Poverty ’ll make a dog gentle ! Modest, yes. At 
least, she knows how to put it on. It ’s the stock-in- 
trade of such as her. You take my advice, and have as 
little to do with her as possible.” 

Florence bit her lip to keep from saying something 
spiteful, for she never felt so much like it in her life. 
And then they arrived at the room, and the landlady 
opened the door and ushered her in, showed her 
where to put away her things, called her attention to 
several advantages the room had over the other, among 
which were its extreme size, its two windows which 
looked out upon the street, and several articles of fur- 
niture, which the landlady assured her were possessed 
by no other room in the house. The good lady then bade 
her an unctuous good-night and took herself off, much 
to the relief of the girl. 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


135 


The room, it could not be denied, was a decided im- 
provement over the other one. Indeed, for a boarding- 
house it was an exceptionally pleasant one. But Flor- 
ence took very little time to examine it that night, for 
the fatigue of the previous night, coupled with the 
worry and excitement of the day, had prepared her for 
the soundest of slumber, and she lost no time in 
undressing and creeping into the great, wide, hard 
bed, where she soon fell into the sweet, gentle slumber 
known only to youth, health and innocence. 

Florence was up the following morning as soon as 
the sun had climbed high enough over the dingy roofs 
to peep in at her window, and long before any one else 
was stirring in the house. After making her simple 
toilet, she sat by the window a long time watching the 
strange sights in the streets. It was all very novel to 
Florence, for, although she had often been in the city, 
she had stopped at the great hotels and nothing of the 
real life of the city was to be seen. Here she saw the 
early scavengers at work ; she saw a wretched little 
woman with a swarthy complexion, with a* bundle four 
times as large as herself on her head, and still delving 
into the rows of barrels that stood like sentinels along 
the curb for more. This gave Florence h^^r first notion 
of the poverty and economy of the city, and she could 
not avoid contrasting it with the prodigality of the 
country. Then she saw a sprinkling-cart come lum- 
bering and swishing along, flooding the hot, thirsty 
street with its cool crsytal drops, and in its wake 
romped and screeched a bevy of dirty urchins, bathing 
their bare, brown feet in the cool, gracious flood. Then 
came a procession of noisy milk wagons, butchers’ 
carts and push-carts laden with vegetables ; and 
throngs of peddlers of every description, with harsh, 
strident voices and unintelligible words, till Florence 


136 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


began to think she was back in some European capital 
whose language was unknown to her. Presently a 
hand-organ, somewhere, mingled its creaking voice 
with the din. And then came a number of small boys 
with bundles of papers under their arms, bawling 
vociferously, but their words were equally unintelligi- 
ble with the others. And then a poor, emaciated boy, 
with a shrunken leg, came hobbling along on a crutch, 
and he, too, carried a bundle of papers, but his voice 
was subdued and gentle. And as he got under the 
window he paused, rested his weak, weary body on the 
crutch and raised his great dark, sad eyes to the win- 
dow, and when they met the sweet, sympathetic face 
there, a sad, beseeching smile played about the pale 
lips. Florence’s heart went out to him, and she felt 
that she would like to do something for him, but she 
realized at that moment that she had given her last 
penny to the landlady. The thought vexed her be- 
yond measure, and, spurred partly by vexation and 
partly by an uncontrollable impulse to befriend the 
poor creature in the street, she snatched off one of her 
rings, raised the window and flung the jewel to the 
astonished cripple. 

The ring fell upon the edge of the curb and rolled 
into the gutter, whence it was quickly rescued by the 
boy. He turned it over in his dirty fingers and ex- 
amined it wonderingly for some time, and then raised 
his eyes inquiringly to the window. Florence nodded 
and smiled, which caused the poor wretch to examine 
the jewel again and look extremely perplexed. At 
length, he again glanced up, and, in a doubtful tone, 
said: 

“ Fora me ?” 

Florence threw up the window and, still smiling 
graciously, replied: 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


137 


“ Yes, yes, it is for you ! I have no money, or you 
should have that.” 

The poor fellow was puzzled, and after another care- 
ful scrutiny of the ring, looked up and said : 

“ Notta good ?” 

“ Yes, certainly it is good,” replied the girl, vexed 
with the question. “Of course it is good. Pure gold and 
real stones.” 

The boy shook his head dubiously. 

“ Whata for you give to me, if good ? Me thinka no 
gooda.” 

Nevertheless he pocketed the jewel and hobbled 
away on his crutch, and Florence was angry enough to 
have shaken him if she had been near enough to him. 
But her anger was soon forgotten in the contemplation 
of the ever-changing panorama that passed before her. 

At length the impulse to go out upon the street seized 
her, and she decided to take a walk. Donning her little 
walking-hat and her sacque, she slipped quietly out of 
the house and was soon on the street and mingling 
with the curious throng. She was a little disappointed 
from the first. The crowd was less picturesque at short 
range, and many of the faces were vicious or repulsive, 
and there was a damp, unhealthy smell arising from 
the wet street and the half-decayed garbage that lined 
the gutter, that gave her a sense of nausea. But she 
pushed on and on, and finally came to a large school. 
The children, in noisy throngs, were just beginning to 
assemble, and the girl stopped to watch the varied 
phases of humanity as pictured in the childish faces 
that came and went. There were sweet, innocent face'% 
such as belong to childhood ; and pinched, hard and 
cynical ones, which indicated strife and privation and 
a too intimate knowledge with the wicked world. Then 
there were the stolid, well-fed and indifferent faces. 


138 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


which reminded Florence of her father’s “fattening 
hogs ” at home,^ Presently she saw a. tall, thin woman 
dressed in rusty black, with a pale, careworn face, pit- 
iless eyes and thin, tightly-drawn, unsympathetic lips, 
and at her approach the children grew quiet and hud- 
dled together in half-frightened groups, so that Florence 
concluded she must be one of the teachers. 

For a long time the girl stood watching the curious 
spectacle from the opposite side of the street, and so 
intent was she upon the object of her curiosity that she 
had become oblivious to her surroundings. And then 
suddenly she remembered where she was, glanced 
quickly about to see vrhether any one were watching 
her, and started to walk away. 

But she had taken but a few steps, when, on chancing 
to glance ahead of her, her eyes encountered a sight 
that caused her to pause and her heart to stop its beat- 
ing for an instant. 

It was a man walking directly toward her, and she 
needed no second glance to tell her that it was her hus- 
band. At least, that is w^hat she believed. As a mat- 
ter of fact, as we already know, it was Sydney Parkinson. 

As soon as their eyes met, a smile of recognition 
beamed in his face and he started toward her with out- 
stretched hands, and then she regained her presence of 
mind and turned and fled with all the speed she could 
muster. 




CHAPTER XVI. 

THE FRIENDS. 

Florence hastened with all the speed she could mus- 
ter back to the boarding-house, without once looking 
behind her. And for this very reason she imagined 
that her husband was at her heels the whole time, and 
expected every instant to feel his hand upon her arm, 
staying her flight. And it was not until she arrived on 
the stoop of the house, panting and half-fainting with 
fatigue and fright, that she plucked up sufficient cour- 
age to steal a hasty, nervous glance back over the course 
she had come. To her relief, there was nobody re- 
sembling her husband in sight, and she breathed easier 
for the moment. But she felt certain he would follow 
her, and she lost no time in ringing the bell and getting 
inside. 

She said nothing to any one about her adventure, but 
the landlady and Fanny both noticed her unusual 
silence and preoccupation. 

As soon as breakfast was over, and her room had 
been tidied up, Florence stole into Fanny’s room. The 
girl was already busily occupied with her sewing, but 
Florence imagined she looked stronger and more cheer- 
ful than when she had seen her the night before. 

['39l 



140 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


Perhaps the enjoyment of two consecutive full meals 
had had something- to do with this, for, prate about the 
heart and the soul as we will, the stomach plays an im- 
portant part in our economy, and has more to do with 
our happiness than poetical folk would have us believe. 

After a little conversation about such trifles as girls 
find interesting, Florence said : 

Fanny, I ’m going to ask a favor of you.” 

The girl looked up in great surprise, and instinctively 
laid her hand upon her lean purse. 

“ What is it ?” she almost gasped, as though she 
feared the other were about to ask her for the loan of 
a dollar, which it would break her heart not to be able 
to grant. 

“ I want you to fetch your sewing and come into my 
room, dear,” replied Florence, not noticing her painful 
apprehension. “ It is more cheerful in there, and 
there ’s a better light.”, 

Fanny’s expression changed, but not entirely for the 
better. There was still a look of pain, but it was that 
of a sensitive soul that feels that it is a burden upon a 
generous, kindly friend. 

“ You are very good, Florence,” she said, in her half- 
frightened, diffident way, “but; — but — ” 

“No excuses at all !” cried Florence, with character- 
istic impulsiveness. “ I ’ll take no excuses, for you 
have none — so there ! Come right along !” 

And in spite of the girl’s feeble protests, Florence 
hustled her off into her room, sewing, work-basket and 
all. 

“ There !” exclaimed the ^enthusiastic benefactress, 
arranging a chair near one of the great windows. “ I ’m 
sure you ’ll be better off there. Sit down and make 
yourself comfortable.” 

Fanny, overwhelmed and embarrassed with this 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


141 


new mark of Florence’s generosity, managed to deposit 
her meager little body in the great easy-chair,in which 
she appeared lost, and then raised her big dark eyes, brim* 
ming with tears, to Florence’s face. Her own face was 
a picture of gratitude, which she could find no words 
to express. Her pale lips quivered, and then, unable 
to speak, she burst into sobs. The next instant Flor- 
ence was at her side and had the poor creature folded 
in her arms. 

“ You needn’t try to tell me what you feel, dear, dear 
friend,” coaxed the noble girl. I know it all as well as 
you do. You want to thank me for the trifling things 
I ’ve done for you, and your poor, overflowing heart 
will not let you. But, dear, if you knew the happiness 
it gives me, you wouldn’t feel half so thankful. You 
would say the gratitude should be on the other side, 
and that I am a perfectly selfish thing, after all.” 

“ No, no, don’t say that, Florence !” protested Fanny, 
between her sobs. “ You couldn’t be selfish if you 
tried. You are too good and generous. I do not know 
how a miserable wretch like me ever came to have 
such a dear, good friend. I ’m sure I don’t deserve it.” 

“ And I am just as sure you do, Fanny !” cried Flor- 
ence, soothingly, brushing the hair back from her fore- 
head with a gentle hand. “You do yourself a great 
injustice in speaking in that way. You feel that way 
because you have been mistreated and neglected until 
you ’ve come to think you don’t amount to anything. 
But when we get out to my beautiful home in the coun- 
try you ’ll feel differently. You ’ll get well then, and 
will have no more melancholy spells. Oh, how hot 
your head is, dear !” she interjected, suddenly, as she 
passed her soft hand across the girl’s brow. “ Are you 
ill ?” 

“ My head aches a little, that’s all,” replied Fanny, 




14 ‘^ 

indifferently. “ But that’s nothingf. I ’m so used to it, 
I don’t mind it any longeh” 

“ Let me stroke it,” said Florence, suiting" the action 
to the word. I often soothe mamma’s headache in 
that way.” 

And for the next few minutes she set up such a fric- 
tion on the girl’s forehead that the blood mounted to 
her temples, her eyes took on a dreamy expression, and 
the hard lines of the face relaxed into a soft, sensuous 
languor. 

“ That will do, please,” Fanny murmured, drowsily, 
at length. “ It makes me awfully sleepy.” 

“ Is the pain gone ?” questioned Florence, ceasing 
her rubbing and stepping out in front of the girl. ' 

“ Oh, yes. There isn’t a bit of pain any longer, but, 
oh, how sleepy I feel ! Your touch is so soothing ! I 
never felt anything like it.” 

“ That is the magnetism,” explained Florence. “ They 
say I have a great deal of magnetism, and that it 's a 
sign of good health. Your drowsiness will soon pass 
away, dear. Let me raise this window. It ’s rather 
warm in here. There,” she ran on, after having shoved 
the window up. “ The draught won’t be too much on 
you, will it ? Perhaps I ’d better put a shawl about 
your shoulders ?” 

“ Oh, no, thanks,” replied the other. ” I ’m very com- 
fortable, and this is such a delightful place to work. 
I ’m sure I shall be able to do twice as much here.” 

“ I 'm sure you will, dear. But why not put away 
your sewing for to-day, and let us just sit and talk ?” 

“ Oh, dear, that would never do !” declared Fanny, 
taking up her work, as though the last remark had 
been an admonition for her to renew her labor. I 
must finish this dress for the lady by Saturday night so 
as to get the money.’" 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


143 


“But I shall have plenty of money soon, dear,” pro- 
tested Florence, “ and you shall have all you want 
without wearing your poor fingers out to earn it.” 

“ You are very good, my dear, but it would be mean 
and selfish for me to remain idle and use your money. 
I would feel like a beggar. Besides, this work is 
promised.” 

“ Then, of course, it must be finished. But won’t you 
let me help you, dear ?” 

“ Oh, no ; you could do me no good. Besides, your 
fingers are too soft and white for such work.” 

“ Not at all,” scouted the proud girl. “ Indeed, I do 
lots of sewing at home,” 

“ Anyway, you could help me none on this work,” 
still objected Fanny. “ Besides, I would rather have 
you talk to me. Your voice is just like music, and it 
seems so good to have some one with me who takes an 
interest in and sympathizes with me. It seems as if I 
had suddenly stepped out of a dungeon into the bright 
sunshine. You went out for a walk this morning, 
didn’t you, dear?” 

“ Yes, for a short walk,” faltered Florence, coloring. 
“ But — but — you see, I ’m used to rising so early when 
in the country, and when I got up this morning and 
found that everybody was in bed yet and there was so 
much stir on the street, I thought I would be glad to 
get out. But it wasn’t very nice, after all.” 

“ No, it ’s not nice out early in the morning. I know 
that from long experience. I used to have to start to 
the store sometimes before it was fairly light. That 
was when it was winter-time. And sometimes it was 
raining or snowing, and I can tell you it was anything 
but pleasant.” 

“It must have been a dreary life,” apostrophized 
Florence. 


144 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


“ Yes, it was — a little. But it was much better than 
sitting cooped up in a little room like the one in there 
all day long, and then not knowing whether you were 
to have anything to eat or not. Ah me I” 

“ But those days are over for you now, dear. When 
you get out on the farm you won’t need to get up till 
you just feel like it, and then you can go down to a nice 
warm breakfast in a nice warm room. And then we ’ll 
go out sleigh-riding, and, oh, what fun we shall have !” 

Fanny shook her head sadly, and the old cloud of 
doubt would assert itself. And then, as if anxious to 
shut her eyes to a picture which she feared was too 
bright to be real, she asked quickly: 

Was that the reason you looked so worried and sad 
when you came back this morning ? I mean, because 
you did not find it pleasant ?” 

•‘Ye-yes — that was the reason,” faltered Florence, 
flushing again. 

But Fanny was too intent upon her work to notice 
her agitation, and went on: 

“ I was afraid that something had happened, you 
looked so depressed and were so silent after you came 
back.” 

“ No, nothing,” hesitated the girl. “ That is — 
nothing.” 

There had been a little struggle with herself, and 
she had been on the point of yielding. But she finally 
decided that it would not be the part of wisdom to 
divulge her secret to her companion. It would open 
her poor wounds afresh, not to say harrow up her own 
feelings, and, there was no telling, possibly throw a 
little chill upon the friendship that had sprung up 
between them. So she made an effort to get away 
from the subject, but before she had fairly started in 
that direction Fanny broke in with: 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


145 


“ Don’t you ever intend to live with your husband, 
Florence ?” 

The question startled Florence. Coming- so close 
upon the heels of the last question, it seemed that the 
girl must know something of her secret. But perhaps 
it was a mere coincident, and that for the first time in 
her life Florence dissembled. She affected to feel no 
concern in the matter, laughed at the girl’s question, 
and answered : 

“ No, certainly not. Why do you ask ?” 

Oh, nothing,” returned Fanny, without raising her 
eyes from her work. “ Only it seems so funny to be 
married and not live with your husband. I know / 
should — if I were married.” 

“ That depends upon circumstances, maybe. If you 
did not love him — if the very sight of him was repug- 
nant, hateful to you, I don’t believe you would.” 

“ Is he really repugnant to you, Florence ?” questioned 
the girl, simply. 

“ Yes. I cannot bear to be in his presence.” 

“ And yet you once loved him, and engaged yourself 
to him — and married him. ?” 

“ Yes, I did all these, and yet, as I told you, it was 
against my inclination that I marrffed him.” 

“ What happened to change your mind so ?” 

“ Nothing, so far as I know.” 

“ Didn’t have any quarrel or anything ?” 

“ Never.” 

“ And he was alvrays good and kind and gentle ?” 

“ No one could be more so.” 

Fanny raised her eyes to Florence’s face and seemed 
to study it curiously for a minute or so, and then, re- 
turning them to her work again, murmured, as if to 
herself : 

“ That’s funny.” 


146 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


“ It is strange/’ admitted Florence, the color mount- 
ing to her cheeks again. “ I do not understand it my- 
self. All I know is that he did not seem to be the same 
man when he came back, and I could not endure him, 
strive as I would.” 

“ Maybe — ” ventured Fanny, and then checked her- 
self. 

“What were you going to say, dear ?” 

Fanny broke out into a little laugh — it was the first 
time Florence had ever heard her laugh. 

“ I was about to say — but you would think it so ab- 
surd — that — that maybe he was not the same man.” 

“ That is absurd,” retorted the other. “ At the same 
time,” she went on in a more thoughtful tone, “ I have 
almost had the same suspicion myself. Of course, it 
couldn’t be so, or I should have known the difference. 
One man could not pass himself off for another, 
even if they looked exactly alike. But, somehow, my 
heart told me that he was not the same.” 

“ Although he looked the same ?” 

“ Yes — exactly.” 

“ Then I ’ll tell you what I think about it. Did you 
ever read a story of Balzac’s called ‘ The Avatar ?’ ” 

“ No.” 

“Well, it tells about a man who was madly in love 
with a beautiful countess, but the countess was already 
married, and his love was all for nothing. But his pas- 
sion was not the least cooled by the discovery that she 
was rnarried, and he was on the point of dying for love. 
Finally, after all the other doctors had given him up, 
he was recommended to this Avatar, or Hindoo doctor. 
The Avatar questioned him, and, when he found out 
what was the matter with the patient, he told him that 
there was but one recourse, and that was to change his 
soul into the body of the countess’s husband. Of 


tME MEREDiTli MARRIAGE. 14'? 

course, the patient laughed at the doctor, but finally 
agreed to try it, provided they could lure the count 
into the doctor’s place. They finally managed to do 
this. The change was made, and the young man — that 
is, his soul — with the count’s body, went to the count’s 
hotel and met the countess. At first she did not notice 
the difference, but she hadn’t been in his presence but 
a few minutes when her heart told her that he was not 
the same, and she ran away and locked herself in her 
room. Now, I ’ll bet anything that this is something 
of the same kind.” 

Florence screamed with laughter. 

“Oh, you silly creature!” she laughed. “Do you 
put any faith in such ridiculous yarns ?” 

“ It does seem funny how it could be,” admitted 
Fanny, demurely. “ But how else do you explain the 
mystery of your dislike for this man ?” 

“ I don’t pretend to explain it, but I shouldn’t think 
of attributing it to any .such nonsense as that.” 




CHAPTER XVII. 

A PERPLEXED DETECTIVE. 

Sydney’s last remark caused the detectives, stolid 
and indifferent as they were, no little uneasiness. They 
g-lanced at each other inquiringly, shrugged their shoul- 
ders and grunted. They then went to work searching 
the premises for a clue to the mystery. 

It did not take them long to go over the place, includ- 
ing the two smaller rooms, after which they went out 
into the hall and began an investigation of that. There 
was a heap of rubbish piled up in one corner, and they 
hauled that out and spent half an hour in searching 
behind it and sounding the wall. 

Sydney and the old gentleman followed them about 
wherever they went, silently watching their movements. 
Finally, having satisfied themselves in this direction — 
although the artist could not imagine what they had 
gained, or had. hoped to gain, by this part of the inves- 
tigation — they returned to the studio. 

“ Wal,” growled one of the detectives, “ there ain’t 
nobody hidin’ ’bout here now, that ’s certain. D’ ye 
say ye heard some one speak ?” 

“Yes,” replied the artist, “as plainly as I hear you 
now.” 

[148], 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


149 


The detective turned to his companion and winked 
broadly. 

“Wal, I reckon if any one comes ’round tryin’ to 
play spook on us they’ll find the darbies on ’em, too, 
quick. Eh, Jimmy?” 

His companion grunted an affirmative, and then Syd- 
ney said : 

“ We’ll leave you men in charge for the night, and I 
hope you may succeed in catching the intruders by the 
time we see you again.” 

“ Be sure o’ dat, if dey comes our way,” said the de- 
tective, boastfully. “ We never misses ; see ? By de 
way, wot kind of a lookin’ chap is dis udder artis’ yer 
tell about ?” 

“ Oh, I forgot to tell you about that,” said Sydney. 
“ He is the very image of myself.” 

“ W’at ! Looks jes’ like yer ?” . 

“ Precisely.” 

“ All right,” returned the detective, with a chuckle, 
which indicated that he thought he had got into a rare 
crowd of some sort. “ We’ll take keer of ’im if he 
shows up.” 

Mr. Meredith and Sydney then left the studio and 
made their way into the St. Denis, where they pur- 
posed stopping for the night. 

“ It pains me sorely,” murmured the old gentleman, 
as they walked along, “ that I have made no better 
headway toward finding Florence. I see now my folly 
in not putting the case into the hands of the police at 
once.” 

“ That would undoubtedly have been the better 
course,” responded Sydney. “ Still, it is not too late 
yet. Florence is a sensible girl, and it is not likely that 
any harm has come to her. As I have the detectives 
to look after the studio now in my absence, you may as 


150 


tkE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


well devote all your time to finding’ her. You put her 
case into the hands of the police, I suppose ?” 

“ Yes, and, in addition, inserted an advertisement in 
the ‘Personal’ columns of a number of the morning 
papers. If Florence will only think of looking in the 
‘ Personal ’ columns, my task will soon be at an end. 
But the poor girl may not be in a position to get a 
paper in the morning. God help and protect her !” 

As the two men entered the hotel lobby, a well- 
dressed stranger, whom Sydney had never seen before, 
rushed forward, grasped his hand warmly and said : 

“ How are you, Bernard, old boy ? Found your wife 
yet ?” 

Sydney was so taken aback that he did not know how 
to answer at first. His first impulse upon recovering his 
self-possession was to keep up the illusion, but despond- 
ency had driven about all the. humor out of him, and 
he responded : 

“ I beg your pardon, sir, but you have made a mis- 
take. My name is not Bernard Livingstone.” 

“Nonsense!” cried the other, laughing. “You 
needn’t try to fool an old fellow like me. Come, have a 
drink, and tell me about your troubles.” 

“ I am obliged to you, sir,” returned Sydney, grow- 
ing confused, “ but I do not care to take anything, and 
I tell you again that I am not Livingstone. Here is 
my card,” he pursued, handing him the article in 
question. 

The stranger took the card, examined it critically, 
and then stared at the artist in stupefied amazement. 

“ I am not surprised that you should have mistaken 
me for that gentleman,” resumed Sydney. “ I am 
frequently mistaken for him and he for me.” 

“ By Jove !” gasped the other, getting his breath at 
last. “ This is most remarkable ! If you are not Liv- 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


151 


ingstone, I never saw two individuals so nearly alike 
in all my life.” 

“ The resemblance is rather striking — distressingly 
so sometimes. You are intimately acquainted with 
this man ?” 

“ Like brothers. Why, we roomed together for two 
years in the Quartier Latin, Paris, and shared our last 
crust with each other.” 

“What sort of a man is he ?” interposed the old gen- 
tleman, who had been listening eagerly. 

“ The grandest fellow that nature ever succeeded in 
licking into form. Why, Bernard is one of the salt of 
the earth.” 

“Wouldn’t be guilty of a mean act ?” resumed Mere- 
dith. 

“ ‘ A mean act ?’ ” echoed the stranger. “ Why, my 
old friend, you might as well ask me if the Venus 
de Milo can play billiards. No, sir, Bernard Living- 
stone could no more be guilty of a pusillanimous — or 
as we say out West, an ornery — trick than he could 
swallow Grace Church over there.” 

Sydney bit his lip with rage. 

“ May I have a word with you in private, sir ?” said 
Meredith. 

“ With pleasure.” 

Excusing themselves from Parkinson, who appeared 
to have suddenly lost all interest in the matter, the two 
men seated themselves on one of the lobby sofas, and 
the old gentleman began : 

“ My name is Meredith — ” 

“ Not the father of Bernard’s wife ?” interposed the 
stranger. 

“ Yes,” rejoined the old man. “ He has told you 
about it, then ?” 

“ Yes, he told me that he had married a charming 


152 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


girl v/hom he had met in Europe. Indeed, it was not 
the first time I had heard about her. It seems he met 
her in Germany and travelled with her family through 
Switzerland, and when he came back he was never 
done raving over her, and had his studio lined with 
pictures of her which he sketched from memory. So 
she is your daughter ?” 

“ She is. But you mentioned something about find- 
ing her. Tell me, has she left him ?” 

“ So it seems, and the poor old boy is distracted 
about it, and is taking his revenge by playing pranks 
on some chap who he imagines is responsible for it. 
Bernard always was a grim jester. He is never so 
ready for a mad prank as when his great heart is burst- 
ing with anguish.” 

He does not know what has become of his wife, 
does he ?” asked the old man, eagerly. 

“ No — that’s the worst of it. They had just arrived 
in the city ; he left her at their flat, and on his return he 
found that she had disappeared, and he has seen or 
heard nothing of her since.” 

“ Is he making any serious efforts to find her ?” 

“ I believe he is, although I haven’t seen him since 
the day following her disappearance.” 

After some further conversation on the subject, Mr. 
Meredith took leave of the stranger and rejoined 
Sydney. 

“There is still hope for you, my boy,” he said, when 
they had reached their room. “ The fact that she has 
deserted Livingstone proves that her love is stronger 
for you.” 

“ How can that be when she is not aware of there 
being two of us ?” inquired Sydney, grimly. 

“ She may not know that there are two of you, but, 
as I told you while we were out at Jonesboro, she has 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


153 


a premonition — an instinctive knowledge of it. Her 
•heart tells her what her eyes refuse to convey.” 

“ Oh, that I could be sure of this !” moaned Parkin- 
son, still skeptical. 

“ Oh, that I knew where to find her !” responded the 
stricken father, huskily. “ Something tells me that I 
shall never see my poor child again !” 

And so engrossed was his companion in his own 
selfish sorrow that he had not one word of condolence 
for his friend, and the poor old man was left to grieve 
in silence, uncomforted by the divine balm of sympathy. 

It was not far from midnight when they retired, and, 
in spite of the weight of trouble and anxiety on his 
mind, Sydney found no trouble in getting to sleep, and 
did not awake till about eight o’clock the next morn- 
ing. He arose at once, and, seeing that his friend was 
awake, proposed that they go for a walk before 
breakfast. 

“ The air will do us good,” pleaded the young man. 

Besides, I have something in view.” 

“ I should like nothing better,” rejoined his friend. 
And they were soon dressed and on the street. 

“ We will take the stage as far as Fiftieth Street,” 
suggested Sydney, at the same time hailing one of 
those vehicles. 

“ Why, I thought you intended to walk ?” objected 
Meredith. 

“ We shall have plenty of walking before we return.” 

They mounted the top of the stage and rode to Fif- 
tieth Street, and, alighting at this point, walked east as 
far as the school. 

“ What are you going to do here ?” queried the old 
man, curiously. 

But before Sydney had time to answer, his attention 
was directed to a slender, poorly-clad woman, with a 


154 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


pale face and large, black eyes, who was approaching 
from the opposite direction, and eying him intently, . 
Sydney appeared puzzled at her conduct, but concluding 
that she was some poor, demented creature, or else 
some woman under the influence of liquor, was about 
to walk past without noticing her, when she stepped 
deliberately in front of him and, looking him straight 
in the eyes till her own black orbs seemed to be burning 
into his soul, began in a hoarse guttural : 

“ Oh, no, you don’t run away from me, sir, until I 
have told you what I have to say about you !” 




CHAPTER XVIII. 

A STRANGE CHARGE. 

As soon as the woman began to speak in this wild 
fashion, Sydney made another effort to get past her. 
But again she thrust herself in front of him, and 
repeated the words : 

“Oh, no, you don’t ! You ran away from me once, 
after pledging eternal devotion, and now I propose to 
hold you here and give you an opportunity to see the 
result of your treachery. Look at this pallid face ! You 
used to say it was beautiful. Look at these hollow, lus- 
terless eyes ! You used to compare them to the stars 
that stud the heavens. See this thin, emaciated form, 
shrunken to a mere skeleton by sheer want and disease ! 
You used to compare it to Venus Borghese. All this 
you have wrought by your treachery and neglect, and 
now you would spurn me as a loathsome thing, simply 
because I was fool enough to believe your flattering 
words once. You would strut past me and affect not 
to know me, and yet I still love — adore — worship — ” 

“ Come, Sydney,” cried the old gentleman, impa- 
tiently, clutching the young man’s arm, “ let us get 
past. The poor creature is crazy or drunk.” 

By sheer force of his companion rather than his own 

[155] 


156 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


volition, Sydney was hustled away, and finally succeeded 
in getting' past the woman. But she was determined 
that he should hear more of what she had in store for 
him, for she shouted after him, albeit in a weak, trem- 
ulous voice : 

“ Run, then, snake that you are, Bernard Living- 
stone ! Console yourself with one thought — that, al- 
though you have broken your vows, there is one woman 
that still loves you, with all your infamy. Remember 
that Fanny still adores you, in spite of your cruelty !” 

There was a wail of despair in her words that was 
very pathetic, and the old gentleman was deeply 
moved. Nevertheless, believing her to be some poor 
lunatic, they did not care to remain where she was, 
especially Sydney, whom she had chosen as a target for 
her reproaches, and who was so much affected that when 
his companion glanced at him a few minutes later he 
found him pale and agitated. 

“ Only some poor, harmless lunatic,” observed the old 
gentleman, by way of reassuring him ; “ but she evi- 
dently mistook you for some one else.” 

“ There is no doubt about it,” returned Sydney, 
shrugging slightly and his face clouding with a shade 
of annoyance. “ If there were, her use of the name 
Bernard Livingstone would be sufficient to convince 
me that the poor creature is another victim of this wily 
scoundrel, my double.” 

Mr. Meredith groaned, but made no reply. 

I have no doubt,” pursued the artist, “ that we shall 
find no lack of human wrecks along the fellow’s course, 
once we get into it. But come, we haven’t breakfasted 
yet, and I am half famished. Let us get back to the 
restaurant.” 

The old gentleman complied mutely, and in another 
half hour they were downtown. They went to the Sf. 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


157 


Denis restaurant and ordered breakfast. Both men 
had been rendered exceedingly gloomy by their late 
experience, and were accordingly abstracted and silent 
for some time after seating themselves at the table. 
But at length Meredith broke the silence. With one 
stroke the old man’s good opinion of Livingstone was 
swept away. 

“ I have never until this morning,” he said, “thor- 
oughly comprehended the real character of this man 
with whom we have to deal. I am satisfied now that 
he is an unconscionable scoundrel and cheat, and, I 
have no doubt, has been the ruin of many innocent 
girls. The thought of Florence being in his power 
almost distracts me ; but I presume he has succeeded 
in making her believe him one of the most charming 
and noble men that ever existed. But,” he went on, 
with a sudden ray of hope, “ my fondest hope is that 
his friend’s statement that she has left him may be 
true.” 

“ I do not doubt that Florence believes him to be 
what he represents himself,” rejoined Sydney, despond- 
ently, “ otherwise she would make some effort to escape 
from him. And, now that I think of it, I conclude 
that she must have left him, and mistook me for him 
the other morning, as you suggested ; otherwise there 
could be no reason for her running away from me as 
she did. It is a terrible thing to be the prototype of 
such a rascal.” 

“ Indeed it is. And there is but one way in which 1 
can account for your remarkable resemblance.” 

“What is that?” questioned the artist, with a faint 
show of interest. 

“That you are related.” 

“ Nonsense !” cried the young man, with a look of 
disgust. 


158 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


“ I may be wrong,” persisted the other, “ but from 
the name and, now that I recall it, the likeness, I be- 
lieve that he is the son of either Roderick or Marma- 
duke Livingstone, who used to live in my part of the 
country. These two men were twin brothers and 
deadly enemies, and Marmaduke finally killed his 
brother. I remember that they had sons who w^ere the 
same age and who were the exact image of each 
other — ” 

“ You don’t mean to say that you believe me to be 
one of these sons ?” interposed Sydney, indignantly. 

“ I don’t say that,” answered the old gentleman, 
slightly confused ; “ but I do believe him to be one of 
them. And — and — might not you be a — a — say a 
cousin ?” 

“ I do not believe it. Above all, I should dislike to 
believe it, even if there was any evidence to that effect.” 

Seeing that the subject was distasteful to his friend, 
Meredith dropped it, and silence ensued to the end of 
the meal. 

As soon as breakfast was finished they started to re- 
turn to the studio. As they drew near to it, Sydney 
suddenly broke forth in a quiet laugh and said : 

“ I wonder how our detectives have got on with the 
ghosts ?” 

“ I was thinking of the same thing,” laughed his 
companion. 

“ If those fellows happened in upon the detectives, 
they will have a harrowing story to tell, I doubt not.” 

But upon their arrival at the studio they were sur- 
prised to find the two detectives sitting there, calmly 
smoking a couple of pipes belonging to the artist, and 
exhibiting no sign of having passed through any 
terrorizing ordeal whatever. On the contrary, they ap- 
peared to be feeling pretty comfortable, with which 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


m 


the presence of a bottle and a couple of glasses may 
have had something to do. 

“ Well, did you see anything of the mysterious visit- 
ors during our absence ?” asked Sydney. 

“ They’ve hardly had time, I should say,” replied one 
of the men, with a supercilious grin. 

“ Haven’t had time ?” ejaculated the artist. “What 
do you mean ?” 

“ I mean that they ain’t had time, that ’s all,” growled 
the detective. 

“ Well, 1 should say they had had time to pay you 
several visits since we left here last night.” 

“ Oh, they ’ve had time to come since then,” muttered 
the fellow. “ What I thought yer meant was since yer 
went away a while ago.” 

“ Since we went away a while ago ?” cried Sydney, 
astonished. “ We haven ’t been here since we left last 
night.” 

“ Both on ye haven’t, that ’s a fact,” grinned the de- 
tective, “ but you have, yer know.” 

“ I tell you that 1 have not been in this studio since I 
left last night !” persisted Sydney, stoutly. 

The fellow indulged in a low, sardonic chuckle. 

“ Then it was yer ghost, I reckon,” he said. 

The truth dawned upon Sydney. 

“ Has anybody really been here ?” he asked, eagerly. 

“ You ’ve been here,” muttered the detective, “an’ a 
couple of porters, an’ I reckon yer haven’t forgot 
that ?” 

“ I was here with a couple of porters ?” exclaimed the 
artist, waxing apprehensive. “ What did I want with 
the porters ?” 

The fellow chuckled again and, jerking his head 
inferentially in the direction of the easel, said : 

“ Wal, you air short-minded.” 


160 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


Sydney glanced in the direction, and his heart sank 
— his picture was gone ! 

“ Heavens !” he groaned. And then turning upon 
the detectives, he raved : ‘‘ You stupid asses, why did 
you let them take my picture ?” 

“What !” shrieked the old man, hysterically. “ Have 
they taken the picture ?” at the same time running to- 
ward the empty easel. 

It was not until then that the stupid detectives began 
to get it through their heads that a blunder had been 
committed somewhere, and they started to their feet 
and stared helplessly first at the artist, then at the old 
gentleman and then at each other. 

“ D’ye mean ter say that it wasn’t you that come an’ 
took the pictur’ ?” faltered one, at last. 

“ Of course it was not ! And that was the very thing 
that I wanted you to guard against.” 

The two detectives were thorougly awake to the re- 
alization of what they had done now, and were stupe- 
fied in consequence. Neither appeared able to sum- 
mon courage to speak for some time, but at length one 
of them faltered : 

“ How was we to know it wasn’t you ? He was the 
very pictur’ of yer !” 

“ Nevertheless, you should have satisfied yourselves 
that it was I, and not somebody else, before allowing 
him to take the picture away. The chances are that 1 
shall never see it again, in which case I shall hold you 
responsible.” 

“ Oh, we ’ll find it for yer,” promised one. “ Don’t 
have no fear on that score. We ’ll never let no grass 
grow under our feet till we find that picture.” 

“ I hope you may succeed,” rejoined Sydney, de- 
jectedly, “and you may as well start upon your mission 
now.” 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


161 


“Don’t yer want us to stay here and watch no 
longer ?” questioned one. 

“ What is there to watch ?” growled Sydney. 

“Watch fer the feller that — “ 

“And let him carry off the studio, if he chooses?” 
interposed the artist sullenly. “No, you can do no 
good here. If you think there is a shadow of a chance 
of finding my picture, start at once.” 

The two detectives silently left the studio. 

“ Thank God !” murmured Sydney, as the door closed 
behind them. “We are rid of those idiots anyway! 
And I believe if we hadn’t had them here Livingstone 
would never have taken the picture away.” 

“ What makes you think so ?” inquired the old gentle- 
man, who had been a silent and horrified spectator up 
to this time. 

“ Because the fellow wanted to show us what chances 
he was willing to run in order to palm himself off on 
people as myself.” 

“ What are you going to do now, my boy ?” 

“ I do not know,” replied Sydney, hopelessly. “I shall 
try to find my picture, although it will be of little use 
to me, as the exhibition will open in another week, and 
there is little hope of recovering my picture in time 
for the hanging. If this rascal has started in to ruin 
me he has succeeded phenomenally. It was not enough 
that he should take away the one being of all the world 
that I loved, but he must needs add another drop to my 
cup of bitterness by depriving me of the opportunity 
of winning a little fame for myself. It matters little 
to me now what I do or what becomes of me.” 

“ Do not despair, my boy,” pleaded the old man, re- 
assuringly. “ All may be well yet.” 

“ What hope is there ?” cried Sydney, despairingly. 
“ Here we have been searching in vain for Florence 


1G2 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


for more than a week and are no nearer success than 
when we commenced. And now my picture is gone.’' 

“Nevertheless, we may find both when we least ex- 
pect it. Don’t give up yet. I, as a father, have as 
much cause for grief at the loss of Florence as a 
daughter as you, as a lover, have for her as a prospect- 
ive bride, and yet I do not despair.” 

“ And for good reason,” moaned the disconsolate 
lover. “ She will always be your daughter, no matter 
what befalls her, but if she is already married to this 
fellow she can be nothing to me, even if we should suc- 
ceed in finding her.” 

After another silence Meredith suggested : 

“ Had we not better go to the police headquarters 
and report the matter ?” 

Yes,” returned the artist promptly, rising, “Let 
us go at once. We have delayed this matter too long 
already. ’ 



CHAPTER XIX. 


HEART-PANGS. 

The following morning Florence took another early 
walk. Fanny went to her room at a much earlier hour 
than she was in the habit of stirring out of her own 
room, and, finding her friend absent, divined the cause 
and went in search of her. Failing to find her, Fanny 
returned to the house, only to find that Florence had 
preceded her by several minutes. The girl hastened 
at once to Florence’s room, and dragging herself in, 
pale, agitated and weak, sank into a chair. Here she 
buried her face in her hands and burst into sobs. 

Florence was perplexed, but, touched with pity and 
guessing that Fanny had one of her fits of despondency, 
hastened to her side, put her arms about her, and 
strove to console her. 

‘‘ Don’t cry, dear !” she cooed. “ I know your poor 
heart is sore, but you must cheer up, for all will be 
well in the end.” 

But Fanny’s only response was a fresh burst of sobs, 
while the poor, wasted form was convulsed with 
emotion. 

“ There ! There !” coaxed Florence, in soothing 

[163] 


164 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


tones. “ Don’t cry, dear heart, but tell sister all about 
it. If you have any sorrows, unburden your heart to 
me and let me share them with you.” 

But it was a long time before the stricken girl could 
speak, and when she managed to control her emotions 
enough to do so, her first words were: 

“Oh, Florence, I have seen him ! I have seen him ! 
And the heartless creature strutted past me and affected 
not to know me, as though I was some loathsome thing 
beneath his contempt.” 

“ Whom do you mean, dear ?” questioned Florence. 

“Bernard!” sobbed the girl. “Oh, that any one 
should be so cruel when he knows how dearly I love 
him ! I do not see how there can be such people.” 

Florence’s heart came into her mouth, and if Fanny 
could have seen her face at that moment, she would 
have wondered why it had suddenly grown so pale and 
why her lips twitched so painfully. The noble girl 
controlled her feelings, however, and after allowing a 
little time to elapse in order that there might be no 
indication of emotion in her voice, she asked : 

“ Where did you see him, dear ?” 

“ Only a little way from here — near the schoolhouse.” 

Florence had to swallow a lump in her throat before 
she could speak this time, but with a heroic effort she 
managed to clear her voice, and said in the same sooth- 
ing tone : 

“ Never mind, deary. I wouldn’t grieve the least 
little bit for him. He isn’t worth it. Forget all about 
him, and pretty soon we shall go to the country, and 
then we shall be very happy.” 

“ But I cannot forget him !” sobbed Fanny. “ He is 
the only man I ever loved, and the only one that ever 
pretended to love me. It is impossible for me to forget 
him,” 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


165 


“ But you will learn to forget him when w’e get away 
from this wretched place. The fields and the flowers 
and the bright sunshine will cause you to forget him, 
and then you will be very happy.” 

“ No, no, Florence, dear !” she wept, broken-heart- 
edly. “ You are very kind and would like to make me 
happy ; but I shall never be happy again — I am sure 
of it.” 

“That is because you are sad and broken-hearted 
now, and, besides, you are not well,” Florence went on, 
stroking the poor, aching head. “You’ve a fever 
again. Let me stroke your head. There, you will soon 
be better now.” 

Fanny ceased her weeping by degrees, and fell into 
a half dreamy state as her friend continued to chafe her 
forehead. And Florence likewise lapsed into silence, 
and her thoughts turned upon her strange experience 
of the past few days. She had gradually grown oblivi- 
ous to her surroundings, when she was suddenly awak- 
ened from her reverie by Fanny’s speaking up : 

“ Have you already learned to forget your husband, 
Florence ?” she asked, with her usual simplicity. 

The question caused Florence to start as if she had 
suddenly awakened out of a slumber. 

“Why, no — that is,” she faltered, “ I haven’t exactly 
forgotten him, although you know I never loved him. 
That is, not when I married him. I — I — but let us 
go down to breakfast, dear. I had forgotten it was so 
late.” 

At the suggestion Fanny arose, and the two friends 
descended to the dining-room. It was considerably 
past the regular breakfast hour, and the meal, never 
the most toothsome, was cold and uninviting enough 
on this occasion. But there was one satisfaction, they 
were spared the usual stares and ogling from the ill- 


166 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


mannered male boarders. And then the landlady came , 
in and asked about the young- ladies’ health, which 
contributed nothing to their comfort, as they would 
have preferred to have been left to themselves. 

“I thought you must be sick,” she said, “ or else 
you 'd ’a’ been down sooner. I was just on the point of 
coming up to see what was the matter.” 

Florence made some excuse for their lateness, and 
managed in a delicate, inoffensive manner to give the 
landlady to understand that she and her friend would 
prefer to be left alone, and the meal was partaken of, 
for the most part, in silence. 

When the girls returned upstairs there appeared lO be 
a tacit understanding between them that each would 
rather be alone for the time being, and Fanny went to 
her own little room and Florence to hers. As soon as 
she had closed the door upon herself Florence threw 
herself across her bed and gave vent to her pent-up 
feelings in weeping. It was the first time during all 
this long and terrible ordeal that she had exhibited 
any weakness. She had maintained up to that time a 
calm and firm resistance which was positively heroic, 
but the strain had been too much for her, and she was 
compelled to yield, temporarily, at least. 

Perhaps Fanny’s account of what she had seen had 
had something to do with it. It could not be jealousy. 
Florence would have repudiated the idea that she en- 
tertained the least shadow of jealousy, or that she even- 
entertained the least affection for the man who had 
been the cause of her and her friend’s unhappiness. 
Aud yet, as she lay there weeping, she could not avoid 
recalling his handsome face, of a certain winning smile 
which she had often thought belonged to no other man 
and, strive as she would to drive them from her, certain 
gentle and gracious expressions of his would persist in 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


167 


ringing in her ears. And then — and she upbraided her- 
self a moment later for her vanity — the thought would 
obtrude itself : What had he seen in the plain, pinched 
little face of Fanny to admire ? But upon the heels of 
this came the aggravating thought that perhaps the 
girl had not always appeared starved and pitiful. Per- 
haps her face had been rosy and her eyes bright and 
winsome when he had first met her ; and at this moment 
there did intrude into her gentle heart a slight twinge 
of bitterness, and, for a brief moment, she felt that she 
hated him and 'despised her rival. But it was only 
transitory, and the succeeding moment Florence real- 
ized her own weakness, spurned the thought from her, 
and, springing to her feet, quickly dried her eyes and 
fortified her heart with the determination never to 
yield to the unworthy weakness again. 

Nerved with this new resolution, she bathed her face 
in order to remove all traces of weeping, resumed her 
wonted cheerful countenance and hurried away to 
Fanny’s room. Her principal object in visiting Fanny 
at this time was to console the poor, heart-broken 
creature, whom she expected to find in tears, but, to 
her utter astonishment, she discovered her not only 
tearless but in a more cheerful mood than she had 
ever seen her, and was even humming a little air as 
she stitched away. 

This was a glad surprise, and Florence’s heart glowed 
with pleasure as she ran to the girl’s side and kissed 
her. 

“ I am so delighted to see you looking so happy and 
contented, dear,” she cried, enthusiastically. “ But 
come, you must go into my room, where the light is 
better and it is more cheerful. I don’t see how you 
came to stick yourself in here again.” 

In the ecstasy of her enthusiasm she forgot that she 


168 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


had neglected to invite her friend to her room before. 
Fanny had taken no offense at it, however, for now 
that the invitation was extended, she arose promptly 
and accompanied her friend. 

When they had reached Florence’s room and she had 
seated Fanny in the easy-chair by the window, where 
the sun came in and lent a tinge of color to the pale 
face and lit up the bright colors of the goods upon 
which she was at work, Florence seated herself upon a 
low stool at her side, as was her wont, and, looking up 
into the faintly-smiling face, repeated her exclamation 
of exultation : 

“ I am so delighted to see you looking so happy, dear ! 
It does my heart good. I am sure you will soon forget 
your troubles and get well, and then when we get out 
into the country you will learn to be very happy.” 

“ Yes,” rejoined Fanny, with a half-smothered sigh, 
“ I do feel happy — happier than I ever expected to be. 
And how could I help but be happy with all your good- 
ness and sunshine ? But that is not the whole reason 
for my happiness. I have been thinking over what you 
said to me, and have decided to put him out of my mind, 
as you have done, and I believe I shall succeed — as long 
as I have your dear, good presence, with its warmth 
and sunshine.” 

The allusion to “ him ” caused Florence a strange 
thrill, and she was compelled to choke down a rising in 
her throat before she could speak. But she overcame 
her emotion, and said : 

“ I am glad you have come to that resolution, for as 
I told you before, he is not worthy of your grief or 
love. We can be companions — sisters — and console and 
love each other, and there is danger of our betraying 
each other. Men, I am beginning to think, are 
very selfish, and are capable of inflicting pain without 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


1G9 


much compunction. They see a pretty face, are fas- 
cinated with it for the moment, flatter the owner till her 
poor, silly heart goes out to him, and then he leaves her 
for the next pretty face that comes along.” 

While she had been speaking, Fanny had turned her 
eyes upon her, and, as the sun reveled in the gold of 
her hair and danced in the violet depths of her glorious 
eyes and lit up the lovely face, with its cherry-like lips 
and gleaming teeth, the girl was enchanted. And after 
studying the lovely picture in silence for some moments 
after Florence had ceased speaking, she sighed and 
said : 

“ Florence, you are very beautiful. I never realized 
till this moment how beautiful you are. I wonder—” 

But here she broke off and averted her eyes and 
looked out of the window. 

“ What were you going to say, dear ?” inquired Flor- 
ence, curiously. 

“ I was going to say,” resumed Fanny, with another 
sigh, “ if it could be possible that any man would ever 
desert you. It isn’t possible. I am sure that if I had 
had your beauty he would never have deserted me.” 

Florence blushed, in spite of her effort to treat the 
compliment practically. 

“ I do not know about that, dear,” she rejoined, with 
a little sigh. “ Perhaps he would. Perhaps you were 
as beautiful then. But — ” 

“ No, no, Florence !” pleaded the girl. “ Don’t say 
that ! You must know that I was never beautiful — at 
least, nothing to compare with you. I may not have 
been as plain as I am now. My cheeks had a tinge of 
color then, and my eyes were less melancholy, perhaps, 
but I was always just a plain, simple girl, and he was the 
first that ever appeared to consider me pretty. He used 
to praise my eyes and my figure, but I now begin to con- 


170 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


elude that he did not mean it. He was not sincere, 
maybe.” 

Oh, he may have been, dear, and you may be doing 
yourself an injustice in considering that you were not 
beautiful. Indeed, you are far from plain now, although 
your cheeks are pale and your eyes a little heavy from 
hard work, but you will get over all that when we get 
out to my home in the country.” 

I hope so !” sighed Fanny, who had long since be- 
come reconciled to taking the trip, and had even been 
heard to express a wish that Florence's money .would 
come, so that they might start. 

“ I know it !” cried Florence enthusiastically. ** You 
will be a different person in no time. I only wish they 
would send me the money to go home on. But it will 
not be long now. I am sure it won’t.” 

“It is strange that your father doesn’t come after ’ 
you,” ventured Fanny, diffidently. 

“ So he may, when he gets my letter,” Florence has- 
tened to say. “ Of course, he knows nothing about my 
troubles — how can he till he gets my letter ? — and thinks 
I am happy with my — husband. And, then, mamma 
being sick — poor mamma ! I hope she is better before 
this — he could not very well leave unless she was bet- 
ter ; and so he will be most likely to send me the 
money.” 

Fanny was silent a long time, and plied her needle 
diligently, but her face was very grave, and it was evi- 
dent that her thoughts were busy. She also sighed 
occasionally, indicating that her thoughts were of a 
melancholy nature. Florence sat studying her friend's 
face, also engrossed in thought. At length Fanny 
said, without raising her eyes from her needle-work : 

“ And you never, never intend to go back to your 
husband, Florence ?” 


THEl MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


in 


The question was so unexpected that it gave Florence 
a start. 

“ Why, what a question V* she could not refrain from 
ejaculating. “ Of course not. How came you to ask 
such a question, Fanny ?” 

“Oh, I was just thinking,” returned the other — “I 
was just thinking that if, when you got back home, he 
should come out there and your old love came back to 
you, and you felt toward him as you did when you were 
first together, whether you would not consent to live 
with him.” 

This speech had a strange effect upon Florence. 
The reference to her old love, of her feelings toward 
Sydney Parkinson when they were first together, gave 
her a thrill of indescribable delight such as she had ex- 
perienced when, her own heart full of happiness and 
love, he had first whispered his devotion to her in words 
the like of which, for melody, she had never heard. 
Her cheeks glowed and she felt the warm blood ting- 
ling in her veins, as she faltered faintly : 

“ I cannot tell — maybe.” 

“ Because,” pursued Fanny, promptly, still not look- 
ing up, “ it would make me very happy if you did — and 
were happy.’^ 




CHAPTER XX. 

THE OUTCASTS. 

Thus the time went on,. and Florence had no word 
from home. She could not understand it. More than 
a week dragged by, and she began to grow anxious. 
Nor was she the only one that had grown anxious. 
The landlady began to exhibit unmistakable signs of 
anxiety. At first she indicated this through the medium 
of hints, vague at the outset, but waxing more unmis- 
takable as time went on. At length one day toward 
the close of the second week, she flounced into Flor- 
ence’s room, and the instant she entered the door 
Florence saw by the stern visage and snapping eyes 
that the landlady was out of humor. 

“Good morning, Mrs. McQuade,” said the girl, 
timidly. 

“ Good morning, Mrs. Meredith,” snapped the good 
woman, crustily. 

And then, without further preface, and planting her- 
self before the cringing girl, she began : 

“Mrs. Meredith, when am I to get my money for 
your board and lodging ?” 

“ I hope very soon, Mrs. McQuade,” replied Florence, 
turning very pale and drawing closer to Fanny, who 
[172] 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


173 


was sitting at the window, as usual. “ I was just say- 
ing to Fanny this morning that it was strange my folks 
do not answer my letter. I am sure — ” 

“ I think it very strange, too,” interrupted the land- 
lady, savagely. “Here you told me when you came 
that it wouldn’t take more than three or four days to 
hear from home, and here it ’s been nearly two weeks. 
It looks to me as if something was wrong !” 

“ I ’m afraid so, too,” ventured Florence, not under- 
standing the other’s meaning. “ Either papa did not 
get my letter or mamma — ” 

“ Look here, madam,” interposed Mrs. McQuade 
again, “ this humbug has gone on long enough ! Nancy 
McQuade is not a woman to be trifled with. The fact 
of the business is, your folks, if you ever had any, 
have cut you dead ! Why don’t you go back to your 
husband, if you have any, and make him pony up ? Do 
you imagine I ’m going to be imposed upon by the 
likes of you ? No, madam ! So you kin just pack up 
yer traps as soon as you like, and git out ! But mind^ 
ye’ll leave them fine rings and that watch of yours as 
security when ye go ! If ye don’t I ’ll have ye 
arrested !” 

With that the good woman flounced out of the room 
as meteorically as she came in. 

Poor Florence was crushed. She had never been so 
humiliated in her life. She, who had always been used 
to every luxury and never known the value of money, 
to be dunned and insulted hy a vulgar boarding-house 
mistress! It was terrible. She could neither speak 
nor look up at Fanny, so deeply did she feel her humili- 
ation. And then it came Fanny’s turn to offer consola- 
tion. To her mind there was no humiliation in what 
she had just seen and heard. She had long since grown 
callous to the like. All she saw in it was a bit of rude- 


174 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


ness and meanness on the part of the boarding-house 
woman, which, had it been applied to herself, she would 
have thought little of — it might, perhaps, have occa- 
sioned a good cry ; but in the case of her friend it was 
altogether different. She knew Florence to be gentle 
and sensitive, and realized something of the pain it 
must have occasioned her. So she stooped down and 
took her friend in her arms in a sisterly fashion, and 
said, in a soothing voice : 

“ Never mind what that old creature says, dear. She 
knows no better. She does not know how to treat re- 
spectable people. Incapable of feeling herself, she gives 
no one else credit for it. But, thank goodness, we shall 
soon be out of her house, and we 11 forget her as we 
will all the other disagreeable people and things.” 

It was not until then that Florence found vent to her 
feelings, and this she found in a flood of tears. It was 
the first time that Fanny had ever seen her weep, and 
it affected her greatly. She had come to, imagine that 
this sunny creature was incapable of sadness, and now 
to see her giving way to her sorrow in this manner — 
which was her own way — Fanny was saddened beyond 
measure. 

** Don't cry, dear,” she implored, struggling heroic- 
ally to keep back her own tears and appear brave. “ We 
shall soon come out all right. Your money will soon 
be here, and then we will leave the cross, heartless old 
thing forever.” 

“ But,” sobbed Florence, finding her speech for the 
first time, “ she will put me out on the street, and what 
is worse, take my jewelry, and if I refuse to give her 
every article of it, she’ll have me arrested ! Just think 
of it ! I being arrested and put in jail ! Oh, why does 
not papa come to my assistance ?” 

** So he will, dear,” cooed her friend, bending over 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


175 


and kissing Florence, “ very soon now. I am sure he 
will.” 

“ But it has been so long now since I wrote that my 
letter must have miscarried, and if he did not get it he 
will not come. And from what this dreadful woman 
says she wishes me to leave her house at once. Oh, 
what shall I do ?” 

Poor Fanny was at the end of her argument, and be- 
gan to feel that the case was as hopeless as Florence 
herself felt it to be. She was silent for a time, mean- 
while struggling with all her poor nature for two ob- 
jects — one to keep from also breaking down and 
weeping, and the other to discover some way out of 
the dilemma. And then suddenly a happy thought 
came to her relief. Her face brightened, her eyes 
sparkled, and she almost clapped her hands as she ex- 
claimed : 

“ Oh, Florence, I have it !” 

Florence looked up through her tears with a half- 
startled, half-hopeful expression. 

“ What is it ?” she asked, with a shade of diffi- 
dence. 

“ It ’s a scheme,” pursued Fanny, tentatively. “ You, 
who have never known the hard ways of the world, 
will be startled — pained, maybe ; but, after all, there 
is really no harm in it, and everything can be re- 
deemed.” 

Florence turned pale. She imagined she saw be- 
hind this haze of mystery vague, grim shadows and 
horrid shapes of sin. She trembled in every fiber, and 
dared not ask the nature of Fanny’s “ scheme,” so the 
latter went on to explain: 

You know the landlady said you must leave your 
jewelry with her, dear ? Well, I should do nothing of 
the kind ; although if you don’t, and don’t give her 


176 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


the money, she is just brutal enough to carry out her 
threat of having you arrested — ” 

You aren’t going to advise me to run away without 
paying her ?” interrupted Florence, with a scared look. 
“ Because I won’t do it. She shall take my jewelry 
first.” 

“Goosey !” laughed Fanny. “Who’s going to advise 
you to run away ? But the jewelry — ” 

“Well,” interrupted Florence, eagerly, “what of the 
jewelry ?” 

“ As I said, I shouldn’t let her have it at all, because 
you may not get it all back.” 

“ What then ?” questioned the other, impatiently. 

“ Listen. As I have told you, I once had jewelry 
myself. I think I also told you that I was compelled 
to hypothecate it — ” 

“ Eh ?” 

“ Pawn it,” laughed Fanny. 

“ I know you said your uncle got it,” said Florence 
with a mystified expression. 

“That is a name given by people who are compelled 
to pledge their things to the pawnbroker.” 

“ Oh !” 

“ Now what I propose is, instead of giving your jew- 
elry to this heartless landlady and leaving the house 
penniless, as you would have to do under such circum- 
stances, to pawn the jewelry for as much money as we 
can get on it, pay the landlady what you owe her, and 
with the rest of the money go home. Your father can 
redeem it any time.” 

“The very thing!” cried Florence, jumping up and 
beginning to divest herself of her jewelry. But she 
suddenly checked herself and looked at Fanny. “ But 
what about you, dear ?” she said. 

“ Never mind about me,” rejoined the other. “ When 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


177 


you get home, if you really wish it,” she faltered, drop- 
ping her voice, “you can send me the money.” 

“ You know I wish it, dear !” cried Florence, passion- 
ately, throwing her arms about her friend’s neck. 
“ But,” she broke off with a sudden inspiration, “ don’t 
you think we can get enough money on all these to 
take us both ? I would so like you to go when I do. I 
cannot bear the thought of leaving you here in this 
dreadful place.” 

“Maybe,” acquiesced Fanny, a little doubtfully. 
“ These Shylocks are hard people, though. They want 
the whole hog. However, as you are well dressed, they 
will do better by you than they would by me.” 

“Oh !” cried Florence, starting back, with a look of 
horror. “ Must I go ? I thought you would transact 
this terrible business for me.” 

“ I should be glad to, but if I went there with my 
plain clothes, they would think at once that I had 
stolen the goods.” 

“ Are they so suspicious as that ?” 

“Indeed, they have to be. You see, if the goods 
were stolen, they would be compelled to give them up 
to the owner should he call for them, and they 
would be out of the money advanced.” 

And so it was arranged, although Fanny agreed to 
go along and show her where to go, and half an hour 
later they left the house together. 

It was a terrible ordeal for Florence to denude her- 
self of all her jewelry, nearly every piece of which had 
been a present from some dear friend, and it was with 
a faltering step that she entered the pawnbroker’s 
shop. There was a musty, disagreeable smell about 
the place, and no end of dirty, wretched-looking peo- 
ple. But Fanny steered her successfully past these 
and into a little stall, where she was able to transact 


178 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


her business without having to submit to the volley of 
vulgar stares which were leveled at her pretty face 
when she entered the place. 

The greasy, whiskered pawnbroker who approached 
her filled the girl with loathing, so much so that it was 
an effort for her to begin negotiations, but she finally 
screwed her courage up to this pitch, and the fellow 
examined the jewelry. After a good deal of haggling, 
he consented to loan her fifty dollars on about five 
hundred dollars’ worth of jewelry, and Florence put 
the money into her pocket and left the place. She 
breathed again when she got outside, but her nervous- 
ness did not forsake her for hours afterward. 

As soon as she reached the house she called the 
landlady into the parlor and asked the amount of her 
bill. 

“ Do ye want to pay Miss Forsythe’s bill, too ?” in- 
quired the woman, suavely, for she didn’t notice that 
Florence’s jewelry was missing. 

“Yes, ma’am,’’ rejoined the girl; “everything to 
date.” 

“ Then it ’ll be thirty-two dollars up to Saturday, Mrs. 
Meredith,” said the woman. “You know F can’t take 
anything less than a week.” 

Florence paid her without a word, although Mrs. 
McQuade had neglected to deduct the four dollars and 
some cents she had given her on her arrival, and was 
about to hurry away to her room, when the landlady 
stopped her. 

“ I s’pose, now that ye’ve got your money, ye’ll be 
leaving right away, Mrs. Meredith ?” she said, coldly. 

“ Yes, very soon,” replied Florence, moving toward 
the door. 

“ Of course ye could stay till Saturday,” pursued the 
woman, with cold asperity. 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


179 


‘‘I suppose I could, as I have paid in advance till 
then," ventured Florence, timidly. 

“ Oh, yes," snapped the other, “ and there’s plenty 
just mean enough to stay out the very last day they’ve 
paid up for. I hope you’re not one of that kind, Mrs. 
Meredith, for I always supposed you was a lady." 

Florence waited to hear no more, but darted away to 
her room. Here she was met by Fanny, who asked her 
how she had come out with the landlady. Florence 
the incident briefly, when Fanny exclaimed : 

‘‘ But, my dear, you shouldn’t have paid the whole 
amount, for don’t you remember you gave her more 
than a half a week’s board when you came ?’’ 

“Yes," replied the girl, “but never mind. I would 
rather let her keep it than have another scene with 
her. The worst of it is, though, she insists that I shall 
leave at once instead of remaining for the time for 
which I have paid." 

“You shall do nothing of the kind," cried Fanny, in- 
dignantly. “You shall stay as long as you have paid 
for, and for the other four dollars besides." 

“ Oh, no, 1 couldn’t think of staying another day in 
her house, after what she said awhile ago. We shall 
go at once. I still have plenty of money for our fare 
and all our needs." 

And so it was arranged. But when they were about 
ready to start Florence noticed that Fanny’s shoes were 
very bad and insisted upon purchasing her a new pair. 
When this was done, the two girls packed up a few 
belongings and started with light hearts for the 
depot. 

^ But when they reached the depot at Jersey City, 
Florence discovered that she had not sufficient money 
to purchase the tickets. 

“ But what shall we do ?’’ she cried, in despair. 


180 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE, 


“You go on,” replied Fanny, promptly, “ and I ’ll go 
back.” 

“ No, no ! I shall never consent to that !” cried the 
noble girl. “ I shall not go a step without you.” 

“ But you cannot stay here,” persisted Fanny. “ You 
must go on.” 

“Not a step !” repeated Florence, stubbornly. 

“Then I’ll tell you what we might do. We might 
purchase tickets for as far as the money will reach and 
walk the rest of the way. It would be just jolly.” 

This plan was decided upon ; but just then an old 
gentleman, who had evidently overheard the conversa- 
tion, stepped up and inquired if they were short of 
money. 

Florence reluctantly told him she was, when he in- 
formed her that cheaper tickets might be purchased by 
those who knew where to go, and he would be only too 
glad to purchase them for her if she would permit him. 

“ How much will they cost ?” asked the girl inno- 
cently. 

“ To Jonesboro — six dollars apiece,” he replied. 

Florence gave him the money cheerfully, as that 
would still leave her two dollars with which to buy 
their meals on the way. The old gentleman took the 
money and went away. But although the girls waited 
for several hours— until after dark, in fact — he never 
returned. 




CHAPTER XXI. 

A CLUE. 

After Sydney and Mr. Meredith had visited police 
headquarters and laid the case of the stolen picture 
before the authorities, and were strolling away together, 
Sydney began: 

“ There ought to be some hope of success now, my 
friend. Between the police and the newspapers Flor- 
ence’s whereabouts ought soon to be traced, and, if 
the police are worth anything, they ought not to be 
long in finding my picture. If Livingstone’s friend 
told the truth, Florence may be greatly in need of our 
assistance.” 

“ I do not know which fate would be the worse for 
my poor darling,” moaned the old man, “ alone in the 
great city or in the clutches of that rascal. I do not 
believe that either the police or ourselves will ever be 
able to find her. The story of her desertion of him is, 
in my opinion, a blind.” 

“Nevertheless, it will do no harm to look for her, as 
we have nothing else to do, and there may be a chance 
of finding her, if she should happen to be still in the 
city. I ’ll tell you what we might do,” he suggested, 
with a sudden impulse. “ I might put in the rest of 
the day looking about among the studios with a view 
to running upon a clue to the whereabouts of my pic- 

[i8i] 


182 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


ture, and in the meantime, you might do what you can 
toward finding a clue to Florence’s whereabouts.” 

“ I was thinking about the latter,” mused the old 
gentleman, “ and I shall begin by going up there where 
we met the crazy woman and where you met Florence. 
Somehow, I imagine she must live somewhere in that 
neighborhood.” 

“ I have thought so myself, but as she ran away 
from me as soon as she saw me,” said Sydney, bitterly, 
“ I did not deem it worth while for me to go in search 
of her. And now that I think of it, it will be better 
for you to go alone, as she will not run away from you.” 

Having thus agreed upon the programme for the 
day, and having further agreed to meet again at the 
studio about six o’clock, the two friends separated, each 
going his way. 

As for Meredith, he went directly to the neighbor- 
hood of the school-building where he and Sydney had 
met Fanny a day or two before. He walked past the 
school-building, and for a block or two beyond, and 
then taking another street, came back. The old gen- 
tleman watched every face and scanned every window 
along the way, but to no avail. He then worked off in 
the other direction from the school-building, west of 
the avenue, taking each street in turn and canvassing 
it for the distance of three or four blocks, and then 
entering on another, and so on. And thus the day 
passed, and he returned weary and disheartened to the 
studio, without having made any discovery. Sydney 
was already there, and reported that his day’s work 
had been equally fruitless. 

Early the following morning they again parted, each 
upon his mission, but with little hope of success. At 
night, when they again met, they had only failure to 
report as on the previous day, and hope had fallen 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


183 


another degree. And thus they continued, day after 
day, for more than a week, and still nothing had come 
of their labors. And what was still more discouraging, 
no report had come from the police department, evi- 
dencing that they had done nothing. Hope was at 
zero. 

“ What is the use ?” moaned Sydney. “ To-morrow 
will be Friday, and Monday the Exposition will open. 
Unless I should find my picture to-morrow, it will be 
too late to get it hung.” 

“ Still, there would be the satisfaction of finding it 
and the thief, and of bringing the latter to justice,” 
suggested his friend. “ That would be something.” 

‘‘Yes, that would be a good deal,” admitted the 
artist, brightening, “ and, contrary to the resolution I 
had made a moment ago, I shall persevere, thanks to 
your kindly encouragement.” 

Meredith made no reply, and maintained a reflective 
silence until appealed to by Sydney. 

“ And Florence ?” interrogated he. 

“ I shall devote to-morrow to searching for her, and 
if I do not then find her I shall return home.” 

There was a solemnity in the words and manner 
which threw the nimbus of sacredness about the 
speaker which Sydney did not dare to profane with 
more questions. 

The following morning they were off at an early 
hour upon their separate missions of discovery. Mere- 
dith chose the same neighborhood as before, not being 
able to divest his mind of the notion that Florence must 
be somewhere within a short radius of the school- 
building. He had scoured the neighborhood so often, 
and scanned the windows so frequently, that the people 
began to notice his actions and to wonder, and the po- 
liceman on the corner began to watch him with con- 


184 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


cern and to consider seriously whether it would not be 
advisable to “ run him in ” as a suspicious character. 
But the poor old man had noticed none of this, and 
scarcely spoken to a soul in the neighborhood. He had 
made inquiries of no one, but simply searched, dili- 
gently, earnestly, with his whole heart in the work, 
with the one hope and purpose of catching a glimpse 
of his loved one. 

On the morning in question, which was to be the last 
day of his search, he had patrolled one or two streets 
and was returning toward the school building, his cen- 
tripetal point of action, when he was approached by a 
newsboy with an armful of papers. 

“Papay?” cried the boy, in a soft, musical voice, ut- 
terly unlike the commonalty of his class. “ You wanta 
buya th’ papay, mista ?” 

The old man looked at the boy absently, and there 
was something in the great, dark, pathetic eyes which 
appealed to him. And yet, as he stopped and gazed at 
the earnest, upturned face, he did so in a half abstracted 
spirit. His mind was half divided between the boy 
before him and Florence, and somehow in the confusion 
of his dream he unconsciously associated one with the 
other in some mysterious way, and this caused his heart 
to go out to the boy, and, scarcely aware of what he 
was doing, he put his hand into his pocket, drew out a 
handful of silver and shoved it into the boy’s hand. 
The expression of astonishment on the lad’s face was a 
study. He appeared unable to realize the truth for 
some time, and stood staring first at the shining coins 
in his dirty hand and then at the philanthropist’s face, 
with wide, wondering eyes. At length he murmured, 
almost inaudibly : 

“Alla for me?” 

It was not till then that the old man realized what he 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


185 


had done, but he had no desire to retract his action, and 
smiling benevolently, replied : 

“ Yes, it is all for you, my boy. See that you do not 
spend it foolishly.” 

The admonition was lost on the boy, and his expres- 
sion of surprise began to give place to one of doubt. 

“ You tinka good ?” he questioned. 

And at the same time raised one of the coins to his 
mouth and tested it with his teeth. 

Meredith was not only surprised but shocked at the 
action. 

“ Of course it is good,” he said, indignantly. “ Do 
you think I would give you bad money ?” 

“ Me nota know,” replied the other, dubiously. 
“ Richa th’ folks not giva heap th’ mun poor boy alia 
time. But me thinka gooda,” he went on, assuming a 
satisfied air and putting the money into his pocket- 
“ Me thinka gooda. Yon looka gooda th' man, same 
gooda th' lady, giva to me some time ring. Me no 
think gooda. It heap gooda. Me can sell twenty dol. 
Me no sell. Me keep for gooda th' lady. You lika see 
ring ?” 

The old man expressed a wish to see the ring, simply 
because he thought that it would gratify the boy rather 
than from any interest he took in the matter. The 
boy took a small packet of tissue paper from his pocket 
and, after carefully unwrapping it, took therefrom a 
glistening jewel and handed it to Mr. Meredith. 

As soon as he glanced at it, the old gentleman started 
convulsively. 

“ Where did you get this ring ?” he gasped. 

“ The gooda th' lady giva to me,” replied the boy^ 
alarmed at the other's manner. “ Me no steala it ; she 
giva to me.'* 

Meredith was much too excited for a moment to 


186 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


Speak, and stood gasping for breath, meanwhile study-, 
ing the boy’s face, which, by this time, had become a 
picture of fear. 

“ Where — where was this lady ?” he finally made out 
to falter. 

“Upa there, at window,” replied the boy, pointing to 
a window a few doors away. “Me come long, sella th’ 
papa, she looka out, me looka up, she open window, 
t row down ring. Me no steala it, mista.” 

The old gentleman waited to hear no more. Has- 
tening with all the speed he could command, he mounted 
the stoop and rang the bell. While waiting for the 
door to open he glanced about and observed a sign in 
the window which read : 


BOARDING 

BY THE DAY OR WEEK. 


The door was soon opened and Meredith was shown 
into the parlor, where he was joined a little later by 
the landlady. 

“ What can I do for yon, sir ?” besought Mrs. 
McQuade, sweetly courtesying and smiling graciously. 

“ My name is Meredith,” the old gentleman said ex- 
citedly, “ and if I am not mistaken, my daughter is 
stopping here.” 

The lady opened her eyes very wide and puckered 
her mouth suggestively. 

“ There was a Mrs. Meredith stopping here,” she 
murmured, studying her visitor’s face thoughtfully, 
“ but—” 

“ First name Florence ?” interrupted he, anxiously. 

“Yes, sir, I believe it was.” 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


187 


“ Then she is my daughter, whom I have been look- 
ing high and low for these two weeks !” exclaimed the 
old gentleman, excitedly. “ Where is she now, 
ma’am ?’* 

“ I do not know, sir,” replied the lady, demurely. 
“ She left here yesterday — her and another woman.” 

“ Where did they go ?” 

“ I can’t tell ye,” replied the lady, with asperity. 
“ They went away without saying one word to me, 
I ’m sorry to say.” 

Meredith, agitated as he was, could not overlook the 
implication so thinly veiled by these words, and it 
caused him no end of grief. 

“You don’t mean to tell me,” he ga.sped, “that my 
daughter went off without paying her board ?” 

“ Oh, dear, I s’pose I shouldn’t ’ave said anything 
about it,” whimpered the good woman, nibbling the 
corner of her apron. “ But, you see, I am a poor 
woman, an’ it ’s very hard for me to get along at best. 
I ’m sure the poor creature could have stayed here 
forever, and I could never have had the heart to ask 
her for a cent, she seemed to be in so much trouble — 
leaving her husband (as she told me) and all that.” 

“You are perfectly right in mentioning the matter, 
ma’am,” interposed the old gentleman, warmly, “ for I 
am amply able to pay all my daughter’s bills, and I do 
not wish anybody to suffer on her account. How much 
did she owe you, ma’am ?” 

“ Oh, there was only two weeks, sir,” she rejoined, 
modestly ; “ but she also agreed to be security for the 
other woman’s board, which makes it equal to four 
weeks — only thirty-two dollars in all, sir.” 

“ Here is your money, ma’am, and welcome !” cried 
Meredith, feelingly, taking out a roll of bills and count- 
ing out the amount. 


188 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


“ Thankee, sir,” mumbled Mrs. McQuade, gratefully, 
courtesying again. “As I was saying, I should never 
have asked her for a cent, an’ she might ’ave stayed 
here for a year, for I ’d got to think just as much of the 
poor child as if she ’d been my own, an’, as anybody in 
the house will tell ye, I done all in my power to make 
her comfortable and happy.” 

“ It was very kind of you, ma’am, and I shall never 
forget your goodness. But I wish you could have de- 
tained her until I came.” 

“ Goodness knows I tried hard enough. It was only 
yesterday, when she spoke of leaving, that I told her 
she ’d better stay a little longer, and mebbe you ’d 
come ; but you know young women are apt to be head- 
strong an’ won’t listen to them that ’s older and wiser 
than themselves. But we was all young onct an’ can’t 
blame the poor creatures.” 

“ Still, you say, she did not confide in you where she 
was going ?” questioned he, eagerly. 

“ No, sir ; she told me nothing. As soon as she got 
her money you sent her, she packed up what little she 
had, and her and the other woman left.” 

“ The money that I sent her ?” exclaimed the old man, 
in astonishment. “ I sent her no money, for the reason 
that I did not know where she was.” 

“ Well, she got some from somewhere. I s’posed it 
was from you, as she wrote to you.” 

“ I never received her letter. However, I suppose she 
wrote home, and her mother sent her the money. But 
about her husband — was he ever here while she stayed?** 

“ No, sir.” 

“And you do not know where he is ?” 

“ No, sir. But now that I come to think of it, I think 
I heard her tell the other young woman that she was 
going back to her husband.” 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


189 


“ Are you sure of this ?” cried the old man, in con- 
sternation. 

“ I am quite sure of it," affirmed the other, confi- 
dently. 

“ Did she tell the other woman in your presence ?’’ 

“ Not exactly. I had been up to her room, and as I 
was going* out Miss Forsythe asked her if she ever in- 
tended to go back to her husband, and your daughter 
said she thought she would, and as it was the same day 
that she left, I naturally s’posed she went back to him. 
By the way, I don’t want to be inquisitive, but what 
made your daughter run away from her husband, any- 
way ?’’ 

“ Because he is a miserable deceiver and scoundrel !’’ 
answered Mr. Meredith, hotly. “ He palmed himself 
on us as another man, and as soon as she discovered 
her mistake she left him, as she had a right to do." 

“ You don’t say !’’ ejaculated the woman, in great as- 
tonishment. “ How was it possible for him to do that ?" 

“ Simply through the accident that the two men were 
the exact image of each other." 

The scandal-loving woman would have asked him 
another question, but Meredith saw that he had already 
been too garrulous, and cut the interview short by 
taking his leave. 

When he again reached the street the Italian news- 
boy was nowhere in sight, doubtless fearing that he ran 
the chance of arrest if he remained ; besides, he was 
probably satisfied with the money he had already re- 
ceived. Meredith bothered his head no more about 
him, and made his way back to the studio. 



CHAPTER XXII. 

THE SECRET OUT. 

On this last day of the search for his picture Sydney 
went about his task as hopelessly as his old friend did 
his search for Florence. In the first place, he had vis- 
ited all the studios in town and interviewed all the 
artists whom he knew, without finding any trace of his 
picture ; and in the second place, the police had been 
ostensibly at work on the case for more than a week, 
with the same discouraging result. Therefore, it did 
not seem likely that the picture would ever be found, 
and the artist was utterly disheartened. 

However, he put in the day in a listless way, and to- 
ward nightfall sauntered down Fifth Avenue in the 
direction of his studio. When within a block of his 
destination he passed a neat and inviting caf(^^ and, 
downcast, his mind full of bitter thoughts — almost in 
despair — he decided to go in and have a glass of wine 
to buoy his flagging spirits. The place was arranged 
with cozy little stalls along one side, just large enough 
to accommodate four people, and where they could sit 
and take their wine and chat without being disturbed 
by the common crowd. 

Finding one of these stalls unoccupied, Sydney slipped 
into it, seated himself and ordered refreshments. Sit- 
[190] 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


191 


ting alone thus, he was on the point of relapsing into 
his former bitter reflections, when he became aware 
that there was a party in the next stall. Sydney was 
not ordinarily given to prying into other people’s af- 
fairs, but since he began the .search for his picture he 
had unconsciously developed some of the traits of the 
detective, one of which was to cock his ear when he 
heard a confidential conversation which appeared to 
contain the elements of suspicion. And as the conver- 
sation that was carried on between the parties in the 
adjoining stall seemed eminently to fit into this cate- 
gory, the young artist found himself unconsciously list- 
ening. And then, by the time he came to realize that 
he was engaged in an uncivil, if not unwarrantable, ac- 
tion, he had discovered, so it seemed at least, that the 
conversation concerned himself. 

So far as he could tell, there were three men in the 
party, and one of them spoke with the accent of a 
Frenchman, or, more properly, a Corsican, the accent 
being a mixture of French and Italian. The first thing 
that attracted Sydney’s attention, although that partic- 
ular part of the conversation did not particularly interest 
him at first, was something which the Corsican said. 

“Well, old fella, you have ze wager won, fairly and 
wiz ze hard work,’’ he was saying, “ and I it pay freely. 
I have enjoyed ze romance of ze test verra much. It 
has convinced me of a fact which I nevaire could have 
believed had I not seen it, zat Nature does not always 
break ze matrix when she molds an object.” 

“ In other words,” laughed one of the others, “ she 
does sometimes make two blades of grass alike.” 

“Zat eez it, and ozzaire blades, also,” added the 
Corsican. 

“ You refer to roistering blades, no doubt,” put in a 
third, laughing. 


192 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


“ For zure. By ze way, I will draw you my scheck 
for ze leetle sum,” 

“Little sum?” ejaculated one of the others. “By 
Jove! I should say that five thousand dollars was a 
pretty handsome sum, especially if I had either the 
winning- or losing of it.” 

“A mere bagatelle,” sneered the loser of the wager, 
carelessly. “I have won and lost twice so much at a 
single sitting at cards at Monte Carlo, many a time.” 

“You must be heavy players over there,” observed 
the man who appeared to have no interest in the 
betting. 

“ Pretty fiar,” returned the Corsican, with a light 
laugh. “ But here eez your scheck, friend Living- 
stone. Your hand, my friend.” 

“ With all my heart.” 

“ Allow me to congratulate you, old fellow,” inter- 
jected the non-interested party. “ You are a rich man, 
and can roll with the biggest of them.” 

“ Not so rich,” answered the winner, in a weary tone, 
“ after the division is made.” 

“You don’t intend to adhere to your resolution with 
regard to the division, do you ?” demanded the other, 
incredulously. 

“ Certainly. Why not ?” 

“ You are foolish.” 

“ Possibly. Most people who have consciences are 
more or less foolish, and I confess to having a con- 
science. The poor devil has evidently endured agony 
enough to deserve the whole sum.” 

“ No doubt he has suffered ; but if you restore the 
picture, which you have had almost as much to do with 
completing as he himself, and the girl already being 
his, he will be too happy to think of money.” 

“ Ah, my friend, you are" ignorant of the true status 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


193 


of this affair, although you have been my constant 
companion, else you would see nothing for either jest 
or congratulation in it. Listen, my friends, for I am in 
earnest — terribly in earnest. You see before you, in- 
stead of the happy-go-lucky Bohemian you imagine, 
the most wretched man in the world. You recall Lord 
Byron’s apostrophe to Kirke White, in which he com- 
pares him to an eagle with an arrow made from his 
own pinion rankling in his heart ? Well, the figure fits 
me. 

“When I accepted your wager in the Cafe d'Engla- 
laire, one year ago, that I could not impersonate the 
gentleman we had previously met in the Fauburgh, I 
entered into the affair with the same reckless, devil- 
may-care spirit that I have always done in trivial mat- 
ters, without for a moment considering the probable or 
possible consequences. But I had not gone very far 
before I made two remarkable discoveries. One was 
that the man whom I was impersonating was my own 
cousin.*^ 

Mon Dieu !" exclaimed the Corsican. 

“ The son of my father’s twin-brother,” pursued Liv- 
ingstone (for the reader has guessed that it was he). 

“ This accounts for the remarkable resemblance,” 
interposed the other friend. 

“ Yes, this accounts for the remarkable resemblance,” 
assented Livingstone ; “but that was not all it ac- 
counted for. There has been a feud or vendetta in our 
family for generations. My grandfather, it seems, 
married a cousin belonging to the opposite faction, 
and, strange to say, that while my grandfather and his 
wife always lived in perfect harmony, their first-born — 
my father and his twin brother — came into the world 
with the inherent hatred of each other that had ex- 
isted between the two sections of the family for genera- 


194 


THE MERED^TH MARRIAGE. 


tions. One had inherited the poison from the mother, 
the other from the father. Well, as time wore on and 
their hatred increased with their growth, they one day 
met, fought, and my uncle killed my father. These 
facts had been repeated to me over and over again 
from my childhood, until they had been engraven upon 
my soul — burned into my heart as with a brand. Gen- 
tlemen, you who know me can testify that I was never 
a vicious or vindictive man in my life. It was the pride 
and boast of my life that I had never wronged a fellow- 
mortal. Like Abu Ben Adam, I loved my fellow-man. 
But, my friends, when I learned that this man was the 
son of my father’s murderer, all the hell that the cursed 
spirit of revenge ever kindled in a man’s heart burst 
into flame in mine. I could not help it — it was inherited 
in my blood. My first impulse was to follow the fellow 
up and mete out the horrible vengeance that his father 
had inflicted upon my father ; but upon mature reflec- 
tion I decided upon the series of insane pranks which I 
have played during the past year, which, I concluded, 
while subjecting him to more or less excruciating tor- 
ture, would afford a certain amount of amusement to 
myself, and be at least less repugnant to my soul than 
the crime of murder. 

“The other discovery was that the little beauty 
whose affections it was my intention to steal away from 
my hated rival, soon made a slave of me. I had not 
been in her society twenty-four hours before she had 
fastened herself upon my heart so firmly that death 
alone could ever sever her. Never did man adore — 
worship — a woman as I did her. I dreamed of her, 
lived for her — she had become a part of my very ex- 
istence. I painted her divine image a thousand times. 
Indeed, I could paint nothing else. No matter what 
manner of model sat before my physical eyes, the face 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


195 


of her whom I adored was the only one that appeared 
to my mental e3^es, and it alone would appear upon the 
canvms. So you cannot wonder that I was able to re- 
produce her image so faithfully in this fellow’s picture 
in a few hastj" strokes. It was an inspiration. My 
brush was guided by my heart rather than my brain. 
It would hav’e follow’ed the angelic curves of her match- 
less neck, lent the glorious tint to her sweet cheeks and 
lips and touched the eyes with the tinge of heaven, if 
I had painted with my eyes closed. But I tire you with 
my recital. Let me come to a close. The moment this 
divine creature took possession of me, I was ready for 
anything — even deceit, which my soul had always 
loathed, to win her. Well, I won her — by deceit — that 
is, I won her consent, but not her heart. That refused 
to accept me, although she was in ignorance of m*y true 
personality. I married her — ” 

“ ‘ Married her ?’ ” echoed his two friends. 

“Yes, the marriage was genuine, although you 
thought it a farce. I had a double motive in the con- 
summation of this part of the programme. In the first 
place, it would have been impossible to have carried 
out the plan of a mock marriage without casting a 
shadow upon the girl’s pure name, I realized this at 
the last moment, and, even though I had had no more 
than a passing regard for her, it would not have been 
possible for me to stoop to the infamy of tarnishing 
an innocent woman’s character. My other motive was 
the result of my love for her. It was my one wish that 
she should become my wife, and such was the ardor of 
my passion that I was willing to practice a little deceit 
to the end of consummating that object, hoping that 
when I had confessed my iniquity she would forgive 
me and ultimately learn to love me, as I did her. But 
I must take just this little bit of credit to myself, that 


19G 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


I offered her a release before \vc went to the altar. 1 
wish to heaven she had accepted it, for now that we 
are married, and, although my affection for her has 
not abated one iota, she loathes and detests me, and we 
are both miserable.” 

A silence of several minutes’ duration ensued, and 
then Livingstone resumed, in a husky voice: 

“ Yes, gentlemen, my folly has recoiled upon myself ; 
like the asp that stings and dies, what I have inflicted 
I feel.” 

Another silence followed, and then the Corsican 
spoke : 

“ I am vaire sorry, my friend, zat our joke has ter- 
minated so melancholy. But ees zare not yet hope ? 
Think you not zat eef you will go to ze young lady, 
confess all, and agree to any manner of separation 
she may desire, eet will make amends to some ex- 
tent ?” 

“ That ii what I shall do, my friend, although even 
that will be slight compensation for the cruel wrong 1 
have inflicted. Oh, why did I not return that morning 
and tell her all ? It would have at least saved her the 
agony of discovering my villainy and deserting me in 
the manner she was obliged to do. I could then have 
been assured that she was restored to her home and 
friends. As it is, the terrible uncertainty that she may 
not have reached home, that she may have become the 
victim of some of the thousands of human hyenas that 
infest the city, drives me mad.” 

“ Be comforted, my dear friend,” pleaded the Corsi- 
can, soothingly. “ Zare can be little doubt zat she has 
reached home. She ees a vaire sensible woman, and 
can take care of herself. Zen, eet may be, zat when 
when yon have confessed, and she has come to know 
ze gentle, generous heart you have, she will not only 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


197 


forgeeve, but learn to love you. You are a man zat 
any woman might be proud to love.” 

“ But how about your rival ?” interposed the other 
friend. “ Do you feel that you have avenged yourself 
sufficiently ?” 

“ Too deeply — a thousand times too deeply,” mut- 
tered Livingstone. “ Why should I have wished to 
injure him ? He has never wronged me. The 
feud between our parents was no fault of his or mine, 
and my only wish now is to make reparation for what 
I have done.” 

The conversation continued for some time longer, 
but Sydney had fallen into a sort of trance or deep 
soul-reverie, in which nothing but the clamor of his 
own inner consciousness appealed to him. What he 
had just overheard had not only thrown a flood of 
light upon the mystery in which he had been groping 
for the past fortnight, but it had opened his eyes to 
several things which he had overlooked before. One 
of these was himself. Up to that moment Sydney 
Parkinson had never dreamed that he was a selfish man. 
The world had always gone pretty well with him — he 
had always enjoyed a fair amount of comfort — and he 
had never bothered his head as to whether the rest of 
mankind were happy or wretched. It had never once 
occurred to him that any self-sacrifice, however slight, 
was necessary on his part ; and if any such thought 
had ever found its way to his lethargic soul, he would 
probably have dismissed it with the comfortable sub- 
terfuge, “Oh, well, if people want to make martyrs of 
themselves, that is their privilege. 1 do not feel called 
upon to do so. I prefer the sunshine and perfume and 
melody of life. Let those whose lot has been thus un- 
fortunately cast undergo the trials, the tragedy, the 
tears of existence.” But the words which had acci- 


108 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


dentally fallen upon his ears within the last few minutes 
had served as a mirror, in which he saw himself in all 
his littleness, his selfishness, his hideousness. He had 
coveted the hand of a pure and noble girl and had 
gained it, together with her unsullied maiden affection, 
and yet what had he done, he could not help asking 
himself, to deserve them ? When he found that she 
had been misled into marrying another, what had he 
done to try to rescue her from the bonds which, in the 
nature of things, he knew must be hateful to her ? He 
had used more effort to recover his picture than he had 
to find her, notwithstanding reason told him that it was 
no fault of hers that she was the wife of another. 
Again: If it had transpired that she had preferred the 
other man, and he had known, that her happiness de- 
pended upon her union with that other man in prefer- 
ence to himself, would he have possessed the heroism 
to have given her up philosophically, and add luster to 
the glorious act by sharing his fortune with her and 
his rival ? He knew that he would not, and in the 
light of the voluntary self-sacrifice he had just wit- 
nessed, he could not but realize his own meanness and 
unworthiness of the woman who had deserted his rival 
for his sake. 

Then he began to consider seriously whether he 
could ever summon courage to face Florence again 
after what had happened. He realized that she would 
not know, and would receive him with open arms ; but 
he would ever be haunted with the specter of his own 
unworthiness, and it was doubtful whether he could be 
happy or make her happy under the circumstances. 

Again : Could he accept this man’s generosity, or 
could he even accept the laurels that the picture — 
which had been brought to a successful completion 
such as he could never have accomplished — would bring 


THE MEREBITH MARRIAGE, 


199 


him ? Would not the brow they encircled burn with 
shame ? 

Haunted with these bitter and humiliating- reflec- 
tions, the artist arose and stole out of the place with 
the feelings and air of a thief. 

He slouched with the same cringing air down the 
avenue toward his studio, with his eyes on the ground, 
not daring to look any one in the face. But it was not 
until he was about to ascend the stairs leading to the 
studio that the full weight of his degradation came 
upon him. Then he realized that he would in all prob- 
ability meet the poor, bereaved old man who had been 
his confiding friend all these days — who had believed 
and still believed in his manliness ; and he felt that it 
would be harder to meet him than even Florence 
herself. 

What should he do ? For several minutes he stood 
irresolute, wavering between the half-formed resolu- 
tion to go up and confess everything, and the less 
worthy resolve of running away and hiding himself 
from him forever. While he thus stood, half-heartedly 
debating with himself, he became aware of some one 
descending the stairs, and, on looking up, he beheld 
Mr. Meredith within a few feet of him. Sydney started 
as if he had been detected in the act of committing a 
crime, and in his weakness he would have fled had not 
the old gentleman rushed upon him at that instant, 
grasped his unwilling hand, and exclaimed excitedly : 

“ It’s all right, my boy ! Florence has left that scoun- 
drel and gone home ! We must go at once !” 

Parkinson turned pale and grew extremely nervous, 
but could find no words for reply. The old man no- 
ticed his depression, and attributing it to the result of 
his failure to find his picture, proceeded to rally him 
good-naturedly. 


200 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


“ Come, my boy,” he said, slapping him on the back 
and laughing, “ you must cheer up. We have accom- 
plished half our undertaking, and it will not be long 
before the rest of it will be accomplished, and we will 
have the satisfaction of having outwitted that rascal, 
with all his subtle cunning. Come upstairs and we ’ll 
talk it over.” 

With that, Meredith turned and ascended the stairs, 
and Sydney followed mechanically. During his course 
up the stairs the artist summoned all his courage and 
fortified himself for the resolution he had first made be- 
fore ascending, which was to make a clean breast of his 
shortcomings to his old friend, and by the time he had 
entered the studio he collected himself sufficiently to 
say in a calm voice : 

“ Sit down, sir. I have something to say to 
5mu.” 

The old gentleman complied mutely, but regarding 
the other with a wondering countenance. 

“ You say you have found that Florence has left this 
man,” he began, “ and gone home ?” 

“Yes,” rejoined Meredith, his enthusiasm reviving 
spasmodically. “I found where she had been stopping 
with a kind-hearted and generous — ” 

“ So be it,” cried Sydney, brusquely, interrupting 
him. “ I have also made this discovery. I have also 
discovered where my picture is.” 

“You have .>” exuberantly. “ Where ?” 

“ Never mind,” interposed the other almost rudely 
again. “What I desire to say is this: We have mis- 
judged this double of mine all along. I have just dis- 
covered that, so far from being the villain for which 
we took him, he is one of the noblest, most self-sacri - 
ficing men the world has ever seen. He is in every 
way worthy of Florence — a thousand times more so 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


201 


than I am, and it is my wish that she should be- 
come reconciled to him.” 

The old man was too much thunderstruck to speak 
for several minutes, meanwhile regarding his young 
friend with the utmost astonishment. 

“ Are you mad ?” he finally made out to stammer. 
“ What has come over you ? I don’t understand this, 
sir !” 

Neither did I till a few minutes ago,” replied Syd- 
ney, calmly. “ No, I am not mad,” he went on in the 
same unruffled tone, “ but I regard your daughter too 
tenderly to blight her life with myself, since I have 
been lucky enough to discover the sort of fellow 1 am. 
Go back home and tell Florence to become reconciled 
to Livingstone.” 



CHAPTER XXIII. 


THE PILGRIMS. 

When Florence and Fanny finally became convinced 
that the old “gentleman ” who had volunteered to pro- 
cure the cheap tickets for them was a swindler and not 
likely to return, they were in a sad dilemma. Florence 
had but a little over two dollars in money left, and 
Fanny was still worse off, she having but a few cents. 
Their combined capital would not carry them far, and 
they were in a quandary what to do. 

“ I was a little afraid of that man,” observed Fanny, 
whose knowledge of the world was much greater than 
that of Florence. “ He was too gracious. You don’t 
very often find people taking so much interest in stran- 
gers unless they have an ax to grind.” 

“ However, it ’s too late to talk about that now,” re- 
turned Florence, a little pettishly. “ What we want to 
do now is to discover some way out of our dilemma.” 

“ What do you propose to do ?” asked Fanny, de- 
spondently. 

“ That is what I would like to ask somebody else,” 
answered Florence, smiling bitterly. “ Here comes a 
policeman. I think I’ll state our case to him.” 

“ Don’t do it !” remonstrated her friend, suddenly. 

“ Why not ?” 

[202] 


tkfe MfeRliDttH MARRIAGfe. 203 

‘‘He won’t believe you, and as likely as not he’ll 
want to take us to the police station and lock us up.” 

“ Why should he do that ? We have done nothing-, 
except to get robbed of our money.” 

“ He is not supposed to know that. Besides, the po- 
lice hear so many stories of this kind which are not 
true that they come to suspect everybody.” 

Florence looked after the policeman, as he passed, 
with a distressed visage, and seemed exceedingly per- 
plexed for some moments. She was far from being as 
despondent, however, as Fanny, and at length turned 
to her companion, and said : 

“ I ’ll tell you what. We ’ll buy tickets for as far as 
our money wijl carry us, and we will then be in the 
country, at least. I will feel more at home in the 
country than in the city, anyway.” 

She thereupon stepped up to the ticket office and told 
the agent to give her two one-dollar tickets. 

The agent looked at her in surprise, and stammered : 

“ Where do you wish to go, miss ?” 

“As far as the dollar will carry us,” was the laconic 
reply. 

The agent regarded her curiously, smiled and exam- 
ined a rate-card. He then informed her what point of 
the road a dollar would take her and her companion 
to, and she promptly told him to give her two tickets 
to that point. 

He selected the desired tickets, stamped them, and 
shoving them out to her, observed, with a smile : 

“ You’re not very particular about where you go, eh, 
miss ?” 

“ Not the least,” was the curt response, as she turned 
away from the window. 

The next train was ready to go a few minutes later, 
and the two girls took their seats in one of the coaches. 


204 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


It was already dark when the train started, and as 
the nig-ht advanced a sense of loneliness came over the 
wanderers. They strove heroically to keep up their 
courage and cheerfulness ; but conversation soon 
flagged, and they gradually lapsed into silence. Folded 
in each other’s arms, they dropped asleep at last, and 
did not awake till the conductor came by and shook 
them up to tell them that they had already passed the 
station for which their ticket called. He notified them 
that they must either get off at the next station or pay 
extra fare. Florence promised that she would, but 
without intending it, fell asleep again and rode by that 
station, for which she received a scolding from the 
good-natured conductor, and the mild thyeat that if she 
did not get off at the next station he would be undet 
the painful necessity of putting her and her companion off. 

It is needless to say that the girls: remained awake 
this time, and at nearly the middle of the night the two 
forlorn creatures alighted at a dreary little wayside 
station. Desolate, frightened and almost in despair, 
the poor girls stood on the lonely platform watching 
the train as it burrowed its way into the darkness and 
disappeared. The little station was in darkness, and 
the station agent, having transacted the small amount 
of business required of him, had locked up and disap- 
peared almost as soon as the train. 

For a long time they stood thus, fearing to move and 
afraid to speak, lest the sound of their voices should 
attract untold danger. But at length Florence, who 
was the braver of the two, whispered : 

“ What shall we do ?” 

“ I don’t know,” was the unsatisfactory reply. 

“ It won’t do to stay here,” whispered Florence, gain- 
ing confidence in herself as time wore on. “ Let us go 
somewhere.” 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


205 


“Where?” whispered Fanny, falteringly. 

“ Anywhere. Let ’s walk along the track.” 

“ Oh, I ’m so afraid !” cried Fanny, clinging to her 
with trembling hands. 

“ What are you afraid of — in the country ?” demanded 
Florence, with a dash of bravado. 

“ Tramps,” murmured her friend. 

Florence shuddered. 

She had seen and heard something of this species of 
creature even in the quiet neighborhood where she 
came from, and she knew that they were often guilty 
of desperate things. But she was a plucky girl, and 
now that she had need of all her courage she was 
determined not to falter. 

“ Who 's afraid of tramps ?” she sneered, with a light 
little laugh. “ Come on.” 

With that she walked to the end of the platform and 
peered off into the darkness. A hundred yards away 
there was a green light which sent a pale, sickly gleam 
along the shining rails for a distance, and served only 
to intensify the darkness that closed around it. But it 
served another purpose at this moment. It gave Flor- 
ence hope to descend from the platform and start 
along the tracks. Fanny followed timidly, still cling- 
ing to her sleeve. They plodded on in silence until 
they reached the light, when they noticed that there 
was a small shanty scarcely more than six feet square 
near it. There was also a dim light inside the shanty. 
This only added to Fanny’s fear and dread, for she 
was sure the shanty was the lodging-place of tramps, 
but Florence had a different opinion. 

“Let’s stop and see who lives here,” proposed the 
venturesome girl. 

“ Oh, don’t !” cried Fanny, in a terrified whisper. “ I 
feel sure it is tramps.” 


tHE MEREDITH MARRIAGE, 


^ 0 () 

“ Nonsense !” scouted Florence, with a light- laughi 
“ What would tramps — ” 

But she got no further, for at that moment a dark 
form emerged from the shanty. Fanny clutched fran- 
tically at Florence’s armj and gasped : 

“ Let’s run !” 

But at that instant the figurCj which appeared to 
have just noticed the girls^ ealled out in a crusty voice : 

“ Hullo ! Who ’s thar ?” 

Fanny clutched her friend^s arrri more frantically 
than ever, and whispered, in a' terrified tone : 

“ Come on, let us run !” 

But Florence stood her ground and tried to discern 
through the dim light what the man was like. Mean- 
while he had advanced toward them, and at length 
appeared to discover that they were women, for he 
said, in a milder tone : 

“ What ’s up, young ladies ? What are ye doin’ out 
hiar at this time o’ night ? That ain’t Bettie Filkins, I 
reckon ?” 

“ No, sir,” returned Florence, who had found her 
voice by this time. “ We ’re a couple of young ladies 
who got off the train at the station there.” 

“ Hum !” growled the man. Whar be 5^e goin’ ?” 

“ The fact is,” returned Florence, gaining courage 
from his kindly tone, “ we should have got off two sta- 
tions back, but we fell asleep in the car and rode on 
here, where the conductior made us get off.” 

“ Hum ! Thet ’s bad. But ye ’d best go back to the 
station yander an’ wait till the next east-bound train 
comes along, which is due now in about fifteen minutes.” 

Florence was in a quandary. She saw that she had 
made a mistake in stating her case in the way she had, 
and was at a loss how to remedy it. But after a strug- 
gle she plucked up courage, took a step nearer the 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


^07 


switchman (which he in reality was), and briefly related 
their adventure from the moment of their false friend’s 
disappearance with their money. 

The switchman, who she now saw was an elderly 
man, seemed to ponder over the narrative for some 
moments, and at length asked in a diffident tone : 

“ Whut d’ ye propose doin’ now ?” 

“ There is but one thing we can do, sir,” answered 
Florence, “ and that is to make the rest of the way on 
foot.” 

“ Whut !” ejaculated the man, in great astonishment, 
“ foot it all the way to Jonesboro ?” 

“That is all that is left for us,” replied Florence 
courageously. “ We have no money to pay fare.” 

“Why, do you know how fur it is tew Jonesboro, 
young lady ?” 

“ I am aware that it is a very long distance,” re- 
joined the girl, with not a note of despondency in her 
voice. “ It is about two hundred miles from New 
York, and we could not have come much more than 
fifty or sixty miles.” 

“ It ’s a hundred and thirty miles, if it ’s a step !” de- 
clared the old chap, energetically — “a mighty long 
tramp for two young gals.” 

“ Nevertheless, we have got to do it, for, as I told 
you, we have no money.” 

“ Hum,” mused the old man. “Ye don’t think ’bout 
trampin’ on to-night, be ye ?” 

“ We must ; we have no place to go.” 

The old man pondered a moment, meanwhile turn- 
ing and glancing back toward his meager quarters. 

“ If ye could put up with it,” he ventured at length, 
“ ye mout make shift in the shanty thar till mornin’. I 
don’t do no sleepin’ myself durin’ the night, an’ ye ’re 
welcome, I ’m sure.” 


208 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


“ You are very kind, sir," answered Florence, grate- 
fully, “ but we would rather not incommode you.” 

“ Not a word,” said the switchman, heartily, turning 
back toward the shanty. “ Ef ye kin put up with it, 
ye ’re jest as welcome as water.” 

Florence started to follow him, but Fanny tugged at 
her sleeve and whispered : 

“ Don’t do it, Florence. There is no telling what 
may happen if we go in there.” 

“ Come on, and don’t be foolish,” admonished 
Florence, firmly, and her friend offered no further pro- 
test. 

The old switchman preceded them into the shanty 
and proceeded to mend the grease lamp, the flame of 
which illumined his face, which the girls saw was a 
rough but kindly one. 

“ Now, young ladies,” he said, when he had finished 
fixing the lamp, and turning to a rude cot there was, 
“ ef ye kin make out with this hiar bunk, ye ’re wel- 
come, an’ it ’ll be better ’n bein’ out in the dew, any- 
how.” 

Florence thanked him, and protested that they 
should be very comfortable there, after which he went 
out and closed the door. Florence noticed that there 
was a hook for fastening the door on the inside, and 
placed it in the staple. She and her friend then threw 
themselves down upon the cot without undressing, and 
were soon folded in each other’s embrace. 

The shanty or switch-house was not a pleasant place. 
There was a pungent odor of grease and rancid oil cans, 
and as the hut stood near a swamp, the incessant and 
dreary croak of frogs could be heard on all sides, giving 
the poor wanderers a feeling of dread and desolation 
they had never experienced before. And then, just as 
they were on the point of dropping off into slumber, 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


209 


the rumble and roar of an approaching train aroused 
them, and scarcely had this one passed before another 
passed from the opposite direction. And this contin- 
ued at irregular intervals throughout the night. 

However, along toward morning, the weary pilgrims 
fell into a deep slumber, from which they did not awake 
until the switchman rapped at the door, and they 
opened their eyes to find that it was just breaking day. 
Florence arose and opened the door, when the old man 
said : 

“ It's six o’clock, young ladies, an’ I go off watch. 
Ef yo’ don’t mind trampin’ over the hills yander a 
bit, I reckon the old woman kin offer ye a bite to 
eat.” 

Fanny arose quickly, and the two girls were soon ac- 
companying the old man along the tracks in the direc- 
tion of his abode. It was a strange experience for 
these two poor creatures, tramping over the rough 
ground in the dim twilight, now stumbling over stones 
or the rugged end of the ties, and now -plunging into 
deep holes where the earth had been removed to fill in 
between the tracks. And everything was strange 
about them — the thousand woodland sounds as nature 
awoke from its slumbers, the strange, damp odors of 
dank weeds and grasses, and the still less pleasant odor 
from stagnant pools of water along the track. 

As they came to the top of a small hill and looked 
away off across an expanse of russet and gray and yel- 
lowing green, and beyond a dark line of timber, the 
broad golden disk of the sun edged up, bright and 
glorious. 

Little conversation had passed between the trio until 
now, but the sight of the sun aroused the spirits of all 
three, and, first beginning with Florence, the conversa- 
tion soon became general and cheerful, even Fanny 


210 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


venturing an occasional remark or asking a ques- 
tion. 

At length they reached the switchman’s abode, which 
was little more pretentious than the switch-house, but 
his homely but kind-hearted wife made the two girls 
welcome, after her husband had explained the situa- 
tion, and soon had a plain but appetizing meal pre- 
pared for them, of which the girls partook with great 
relish. 




CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE PILGRIMAGE. 

By the time the girls had finished their early break- 
fast, during which Florence had repeated their story to 
the switchman’s motherly old wife, the latter had be- 
come completely charmed with the young ladies, espe- 
cially Florence, although she had been a trifle suspicious 
of them at first. And when she came to tell her about 
their experience in sleeping in the switch-house, the 
old woman raised her hands in horror. 

“ Why, Rube !” she exclaimed. “ What 'd ye want to 
let them poor critters sleep down thar for ? Why 
didn’t ye fetch ’em to the house here ?” 

W’y, ye know, Mandy,” responded the good-na- 
tured switchman, “it was nigh on train-time, and I 
couldn’t leave the switch, an’ I knowed the gals ’d ’a’ 
never found thur way over hiar alone at that time o’ 
night.” 

“ That ’s so,” admitted his wife, “ but it was awful 
for two young gals that ’s been used to high livin’ to 
sleep in sich a place.” 

“Don’t worry on our account,” laughed Florence. “I 
assure you we were very comfortable, and we can never 
forget the kindness of your husband in offering us his 
hospitality.” 


[2II] 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


212 

After some more conversation the old woman asked : 

“How d’ye expect to git on from here?” 

“ There is only one way,” answered Florence, cheer- 
fully — “ walk.” 

“ Walk ?” exclaimed the old woman, in horror. “ W’y, 
child, yon ’ll never git thar in creation. Lemme see 
Rube afore he goes to bed, an’ mebbe he kin fix it with 
some o’ his fren’s ’mong the railroad men.” 

So saying she left the room. The switchman, who 
had the night watch, was compelled to sleep during 
the day, and had retired to an adjoining room for that 
purpose. The door being left ajar, the girls could not 
choose but hear the conversation which ensued. 

“Lemme see,” mused the switchman. “The on’y 
man I know now thet hes a train is Ras Ruggles. He 
hes a freight, though es she ’s on’y a local, ye never 
kin tell when to expect her along. HoWvSomever, I 
kinder think she mout come along some time to-day, 
an’ I think she ’s east now, so ’s she ’ll be goin’ in the 
right direction. Jest let the gals stay hiar till ’bout 
noon, and then call me, an’ I ’ll go over an’ see whut 
kin be done.” 

The woman return<^d to the large room, which served 
the general purpose of sitting-room, dining-room and 
about everything else except sleeping-room, and com- 
municated the information to the girls. 

“ It is very kind of you,” objected Florence, “but we 
have already imposed upon your hospitality enough, 
and I think we had better go.” 

“No, you won’t do nothin’ o’ the kind,” decided the 
old woman, firmly. “Ye jest stay here with me and 
rest till dinner time, and my man ’ll try to arrange fer 
ye to ride, part of the way, anyhow.” 

They allowed themselves to be persuaded, and after 
breakfast was over with they strolled outside the 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


213 


shanty for a walk. The shanty stood a short distance 
from the railroad track, but back of it, and stretching 
away for a long distance, were fields. Into these the 
two friends strayed, and, although it was too late in the 
autumn for many flowers, the glad sunshine, the smell 
of the grass and the fragrant breeze, laden with the 
spices of the distant wood and the broad fields over 
which it swept, and the many autumnal tints gleaming 
in the sunlight combined to gladden their hearts and 
make them forget their troubles, past and prospective. 

“ Isn’t this better than the city, with its pent air and 
smoke and crowded streets, dear ?” asked Florence, as 
they wandered on, arm-in-arm, like two simple children, 
as they really were. “ Isn’t it far ahead of the city ?” 

‘‘ Oh, indeed it is !” cried Fanny, enthusiastically. 
“ It is perfectly delightful !” 

“And it’s doing you good, dear,’’ pursued Florence, 
rapturously. “You are getting some color in your 
cheeks already.” 

“ I feel ever so much better,” said Fanny, smiling. 

About noon they returned to the house, refreshed 
and invigorated, but very hungry. The old woman 
had a substantial meal ready for them, and they needed 
no urging to fall to and do justice to her simple but 
wholesome cookery. 

When they had finished, the old woman awoke her 
husband, and he was soon ready to accompany the 
girls back to the station, where he hoped to be able 
to procure passage for them on the local freight, which 
was expected along some time after noon. 

Before starting, the old woman handed Florence a 
good-sized parcel done up in an old newspaper. 

“ That is a little lunch for you to take along,” she 
explained. “ ’Tain’t much, but it ’ll stay yer stummicks 
till ye kin git somethin’ better.” 


314 


‘rHE MEREDITH MARRIAGE^ 


“ Yoii afe too good,” protested the girl, trying to re- 
ject this new mark of hospitality. “ We cannot accept 
anything more from you. You are robbing yourselves.” 

“ Not a bit on it,” laughed the switchman. “There 's 
on’y the old woman and m.e now, an’ I reckon we kin 
do a little in our humble way for them that needs it.” 

“ Well, you shall be well paid for all your hospitality,” 
promised Florence, finally being prevailed upon to ac- 
cept the package, “but your kindness we can never 
repay, although I promise that we shall never forget 
5’ou.” 

“ That is a comfort, anyway,” murmured the old 
woman. “ ’Tain’t everyone that ’s grateful enough for 
that even.” 

And tears stood in the kindly old eyes as she shook 
the two girls by the hand and bade them good-by. 

Luckily the freight train of which the switch- 
man’s friend, Erastus Ruggles, was conductor, came 
along about one o’clock, and although his train only 
went about half way to Jonesboro, he consented to al- 
low the girls to ride in his “ caboose ” as far as he went. 
Indeed, being a young man, he appeared delighted to 
have their company. Before the train started, Florence 
went to the old switchman, and after shaking his hand 
warmly, said: 

“ There is one thing I came nearly forgetting, sir. 
What are your name and address ? I want to write to 
you as soon as I get home.” 

“My name’s Reuben Stout,” replied the old man, 
“ an’ ye kin write to Podunk Station. That’s whur I 
git my mail, whenever I git any. An’ I’d be powerful 
glad to hear from ye as soon ’s ye get hum, an’ I know 
the old woman would.” 

“ You shall hear from me,” said Florence, skipping; 
toward the train. “ Good-by.” 


THE MEREDITH MARRly\GE. 


215 


“Good-by, miss, an’ God bless ye !” cried the switch- 
man, in a husky voice, and Florence imagined she saw 
signs of moisture in his honest old eyes as she peeped 
out of the caboose window for a last look at him as he 
stood on the platform. 

It was a rude mode of travelling, this “ caboose ” 
attached to a freight train. It was no more than a 
large, oblong box with a hard seat running along each 
side, and a half dozen windows a foot square, wrhich 
could not be opened, and scarcely seen through for the 
dirt. But it was so much better than walking, and 
then they had all the car to themselves, except when 
the conductor would come in for a few minutes at a 
time, when he generally made a point of asking the 
girls if they were comfortable. They always answered 
in the affirmative and thanked him politely, but Flor- 
ence thought he might have taken their word for it 
and omitted the question a few times. Flowever, he 
was very polite, and even Fanny could not deny that 
he w’-as rather handsome, with his trim mustache and a 
pair of merry browm eyes. And then they could not 
forget that they were under obligations to him for 
their ride, and it would have been exceedingly rude for 
them to have been anything but gracious toward him. 

The train was a very heavy one, and made rather 
poor time, even when moving. But there were a great 
many stops, and several times the train backed up for 
two or three miles for some reason which the girls 
could not understand. But when the conductor came 
in he explained that it was to let a “ through passen- 
ger” pass. 

Late in the afternoon they stopped for a very long 
time at a station, and the girls heard a very noisy gong 
clamoring along the platform, which they inferred was 
to call people to dinner or supper, and as they' had 


21G 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


grown hungry by this time, Florence opened her par- 
cel. vShe was both surprised and delighted to find a 
whole chicken, which the switchman’s wife must have 
killed and roasted while they were out walking, and 
any number of ham sandwiches and other delicious 
edibles. 

‘‘ That old lady is a perfect angel !” declared Fanny, 
ecstatically. “ I never saw anybody like her.” 

“ She isn’t much like Mrs. McQuade, eh, dear ?” 
laughed Florence. 

“I should say not,” returned the other, with a bitter 
smile. 

“ I told you the people in the country were differ- 
ent,” boasted Florence. “ Aren’t you glad you are away 
from the city ?” 

“Indeed, I am.” 

Just then the conductor came in to invite them to go 
and get supper with him, and he opened his eyes when 
he saw the spread before them. 

“You are very good,” answered Florence, “ but, as 
you see, we have plenty here.” 

“ But it ’s cold,” he objected. “Better come and have 
something warm.” 

“No, thanks,” said Florence. “We can get along 
splendidly with what we have here.” 

Nevertheless, he came back soon after wdth a cup of 
hot coffee for each of them, and after he had gone to 
all this trouble and was so persistent in his hospitality 
they could not refuse to accept the coffee, which they 
were glad afterward they had, for not only was it very 
good, but their new-found friend was greatly pleased to 
see them drink it. 

It had grown quite dark by the time the train started 
again, and as the car was lighted only with a single 
lantern hung from the ceiling, w^hich swung about as 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


217 


the train jolted, making all sorts of weird shadows 
dance and perform the most fantastic contortions on the 
floor and walls, a sense of dreariness came over the 
girls. Florence strove to maintain her cheerfulness, 
and to keep her companion’s spirits up by funny stories 
and quaint observations ; but Fanny was very gloomy, 
and by degrees transmitted her gloom to Florence to 
some extent. And then Florence herself fell into a 
melancholy train of thought. She recalled the happy 
anticipation of her marriage, which was so quickly 
followed by disappointment and sorrow. She thought 
of her husband — not the man she had married, but the 
one she had loved — and wondered where he was. She 
could not reconcile the thought that they were one and 
the same, although her reason told her there was but 
one man, and that he had changed. And she thought 
of her mother, who was so ill when she left, and shud- 
dered when a vague shadow passed over her mind ; for 
it had never occurred to her before that her mother 
might be dead long before this. She also thought of 
her father, and although she had always loved him 
devotedly, and still loved him, she could not dispel a 
shade of reproachfulness that he had not answered her 
letter and sent her money with which to return home. 
How much longer she would have mused thus it is 
hard to divine, had she not been suddenly aroused from 
her reverie by Fanny’s voice. 

“ I wonder where he will put us off ?” she said, 
mournfully. 

“ Carter’s Station, I think he said,” replied Florence, 
absently. “ Why, dear ?” 

“ I wonder if it v/ill be as dreary a place as the other 
one we had to get off at, and if it will be in the night ?” 

“I cannot tell, dear,” returned Florence, soothingly. 
‘‘ He will most likely find some place for us to go, 


218 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


though, for you saw how solicitous he was for our wel- 
fare.” 

She had scarcely ceased speaking when the conductor 
came in, and approaching the girls as usual, began : 

“ I ’m sorry I haven’t a place for you, young ladies 
to lie down, though you can scatter along the seat if 
you want to.” By which he meant that they might 
stretch themselves lengthwise along the seats, and then 
pursued : “ I have a blanket over here, but it is only 
long enough for one, and the seat’s not wide enough to 
sleep double.” 

Florence thanked him, but assured him politely that 
they did not care to lie down, after which he resumed : 

“ I hope to reach Carter’s Station about three o’clock, 
or maybe a little after. If 1 make it before four, I 
think I can fix you out with the conductor of ‘ No. 9 ,' 
the west-bound passenger that passes there about that 
time. If I don’t, we ’ll have to make some other 
deal.” 

“ You are very kind sir,” answered Florence. “ This 
is really more than we can expect from a stranger, but 
if you will tell me where a letter will reach you, you 
shall "be paid for what you have done and propose to 
do for us as soon as I reach home.” 

The young man looked at her with a pained expres- 
sion for a few seconds, and then his countenance 
cleared and gave place to a smile. 

“ I shall be awfully glad to hear from you,” he said, 
with ill-concealed eagerness ; “ but if you’re going to 
talk about sending me money for the trifle I’ve done 
and propose to do, I ’ll take it — yes, I will — I ’ll take it 
as a — a — downright insult !** 

He was silent for a moment, and made an excuse to 
walk to the door and look out, during which Florence 
noticed that he used his handkerchief in the vicinity of 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


219 


his eyes. When he came back, a little later, the girls 
noticed that his voice was a trifle husky. 

“ I had a sister once,” he began, “ and — and — you’ll 
forgive me, miss,” he said, addressing Florence — “but 
she was — the very picture of you ; and if it hadn’t been 
for a rascal of a conductor that used to run a passen- 
ger on this road, she might still be alive.” 

“ Is she dead faltered Florence, growing interested. 

“Yes, miss,” he replied, in a tremulous voice. “ You 
see, this conductor married her and then took her to 
New York city and left her. When we finally heard 
from her she was sick and in want, and by the time we 
got to her she was dead ! I’ll meet that conductor 
some day, maybe, and then — ” He turned his face 
another way and pretended to be looking at something 
outside the window. Presently he resumed : “ So I 

always like to do any little thing for any young lady I 
see in a tight place. It seems kind of like it was being 
done for Maggie.’' 

And he strode out of the car. 




CHAPTER XXV. 

AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 

When Parkinson finished speaking he turned abruptly 
and strode toward the studio door, leaving the old gen- 
tleman dumfounded and speechless. 

That the young man’s troubles had finally upset his 
reason there appeared to him little room for doubt. 
Meredith watched him to the door, and then, as he was 
about to pass out, saw him suddenly start back, as if he 
had met some dreadful monster. But as the young art- 
ist continued to back away from the door, the old gen- 
tleman saw the cause of his sudden retreat. To his 
utter amazement and horror, Bernard Livingstone and 
his twD friends marched in at the door, each with a 
gracious smile on his countenance. 

Livingstone followed up Parkinson, still smiling, and 
extended his hand. Parkinson scowled darkly and 
drew back. Livingstone still advanced. 

“ It is at an end, old fellow,” he said at last. “ Take 
my hand.” 

“ No, I ’ll be hanged if I will !” muttered Parkinson, 
sullenly. 

“ Why not ? The ruse is at an end ; I am a winner 
by five thousand dollars, and I am here to claim your 
friendship and divide the stake with you.” 

[220] 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


221 


“ You shall not have my friendship, nor will I accept 
your filthy gambling money,” growled the artist. “ You 
have robbed me of the only woman I ever loved, and 
my picture, and I denounce you as a scoundrel, sir !” 

Livingstone colored and his hand trembled slightly, 
but he soon regained his composure, laughed lightly, 
and said: 

“Well, under the circumstances I do not blame you, 
and therefore shall not resent 5’our language. When 
you have heard an explanation of the affair, I am posi- 
tive you are too much of a gentleman to longer enter- 
tain any feeling against me. Sit down, pray, and allow 
me to explain.” 

“ I do not wish to hear any explanation,” snarled 
Parkinson, “ except to have you tell me what you have 
done with my picture and— Florence.” 

“ The picture is finished and will hang on the line 
in the Exhibition as soon as your name is attached,” 
answered Livingstone, good-naturedly. “ As for Flor- 
ence, you know as much of her whereabouts as I do. 
I supposed she was with you. If not, she is probably 
at home with her mother and fath — ” 

At that moment he allowed his eyes to wander about 
the room, when they encountered the features of the 
old gentleman. Stepping quickly toward him, Liv- 
ingstone extended his hand. 

“ Mr. Meredith, how do you do ?” he exclaimed. 
“ You will not refuse to take my hand, I know.” 

But he was as much disappointed in this as he had 
been in expecting Parkinson to do so. The old man 
had stood an amazed spectator of the strange proceed- 
ing which had just passed, but when Livingstone ap- 
proached him he shrank away from him instinctively. 

“ No, sir !” he said, firmly. “You have been the 
agent of too much misery for me to take your hand. 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


2n 

You stole my innocent child away, and, whether she is 
still with you or not, I do not know where she is. For 
aught I know, she may be dead !” 

Livingstone turned deadly pale. 

“ Heaven !” he groaned. “ It cannot be possible ! 
But, my dear sir, you jest !” 

“ Jest ! Hound !" screeched the old man, waxing 
furious. “ Would I jest about my own daughter ? I — ” 

“ Certainly not ! Certainly not !” interposed the 
other. “ I did not realize what I was saying. But — 
great Heaven ! this is serious ! This is awful ! I had 
no idea that anything of this kind would be the out- 
come of our foolish bet ! My dear sir, believe me, I am 
in the profoundest sympathy with you, and will do all in 
my power to help you find your daughter, release her 
from the bonds that bind her to me, and restore her 
to the man whom she really loves. Come, let us be 
off at once.” 

There was too much genuine sincerity expressed in 
his face for even the old man, in the midst of his agi- 
tation, to overlook it. And then Livingstone’s two 
friends gathered about and added their persuasive 
powers to that of the young man, and the bereaved 
father was soon restored to a state of rationality, at 
least. 

“ Now let us get our friend, and we will go somewhere 
where we can be quiet, and we will explain everything 
in connection with this foolish business, after which we 
shall devote ourselves to finding Florence.” 

But when he turned to where he had last seen Park- 
inson, that gentleman had disappeared. 

This is strange,” he mused. “ I wonder what has 
become of him.” 

“Maybe he has gone into one of the smaller rooms 
there,” suggested one of Livingstone’s friends. 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


223 


At the. suggestion, Livingstone looked into first one 
room and then the other, but Parkinson was in neither. 

“ I guess we shall hardly find him anywhere about 
here,” prophesied the old gentleman. “ From what I 
heard from him a while ago, my opinion is that he has 
given us the slip.” 

“ Why should he do that ?” inquired Livingstone, in 
surprise. 

“ I cannot tell. My opinion is that the fellow is de- 
mented. He was just raving when you came in about 
not being worthy of my daughter, while, as he avowed, 
you were, and he wanted me to go home and tell Flor- 
ence to marry you instead of him.” 

“ This is very sad,” commented Livingstone. “ If 
our bit of folly has resulted as seriously as that, I 
shall never forgive myself. It has caused trouble 
enough already. But come, let us get away from here.” 

With that he led the way out of the studio, and the 
others, including Meredith, followed. Ten minutes 
later they entered a palatial mansion several blocks 
higher up on Fifth Avenue, and when he had been 
ushered into the drawing-room Livingstone turned to 
Meredith and introduced him to the host. 

“ Mr. Meredith,” he said, “ allow me to present you 
to my friend and benefactor. Signor Lorenzo di Sor- 
rento.” 

“ Vaire glad to know yon, saire,” said the Corsican, 
grasping his hand cordially. 

“ And my friend, Mr. Carroll Mandeville,” pursued 
Livingstone, turning to the fair gentleman whom 
Meredith had seen in the car in company with the Cor- 
sican. 

“ I am delighted to make your acquaintance,” de- 
clared Mandeville, also shaking his hand. 

“ And now, gentlemen, let us repair to ze dining- 


224 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


room, vare dinnair avaits, and vare ze grand meestery 
will be explained to our vaire good friend.” 

During this speech, brief as it was, Meredith took 
occasion to cast his eyes about the apartment into 
which he had been brought, and what he saw almost 
bewildered him. He had seen many gorgeously fur- 
nished houses in his travels, but never in his life had he 
seen anything to compare with the lavish magnificence 
of this room. It seemed to him that the wealth of 
princes must have been expended in the costly furni- 
ture, the rare vases, the masterpieces of painting and 
sculpture, and the rich and priceless tapestry and 
hangings. It was only a transitory glimpse he had of 
it — just enough to thrill him with wonder and a vague 
longing to dip deeper into the beautiful mystery, like 
that of a child when it looks up at the starry heavens. 
But there was one thing that he could not overlook. 
There, in a magnificent frame, along with the works of 
Titian, Rembrandt, Corot, and other great masters, 
hung Sydney Parkinson’s picture, and, smiling conspic- 
uously from it, the glorious face of Florence. The 
sight filled the old man with a feeling of regret and de- 
pression. Whatever mystery might lurk behind all 
this business, he could not help but feel that a great 
wrong had been done the young artist in connection 
with this masterpiece of his. So deeply was he im- 
pressed that he could not refrain from stealing closer 
to the picture as the party arose to leave the room, 
when, to his further discomfiture, he beheld the name 
“ Bernard Livingstone ” in one corner of the picture. 
He could characterize this as nothing short of an out- 
rage ; but he held his peace for the time being, per- 
suaded largely by his anxiety to hear the explanation 
of the great mystery which he and Sydney had been 
trying to solve for the past fortnight. 


THE Meredith marrIagr. 




A few minutes later the party entered the magnifi- 
cent dining-room, where was spread a most princely 
repast. It all seemed like a dream to the old man. It 
seemed as if he had suddenly gone to sleep in the midst 
of his trouble and anxiety, and all this splendor was 
the unnatural outgrowth of this same trouble, a pecu- 
liarity of the inconsistent laws of dreamland. He had 
been borne along, unconsciously, upon the tide of buoy- 
ant spirits about him, rather than by his own will. 

The banquet was in keeping with the grandeur of 
the mansion, and served in the richest old china and 
gold and silver plate, but it had no delights for the 
poor old man, whose thoughts were with Florence. 

“ Zere eez but one t’ing wanting to make zis occasion 
perfect,” observed the host, when all were seated about 
the board, “ and zat eez to have ze beautiful young 
lady and ze young gentleman, ze prototype of my friend 
here, wiz us. Eet was ze intention zat he should be 
here at least, but eet seems he preferred not to join us, 
so we must get on ze best way we may wizout heem.” 

Strangely enough, after this brief reference to the 
artist and Florence, the subject of the practical joke 
which had been perpetrated on them was not again 
alluded to until nearly the close of the meal. 

The conversation was general during the first part 
of the banquet, in which the host’s wife and two beau- 
tiful daughters (which I neglected to mention) took 
an active part. Meredith, however, was silent except 
when addressed, being embarrassed and depressed by 
the mystery which appeared to surround everything 
about him, as well as the anxiety about the where- 
abouts of Florence which oppressed him. 

At length they reached the dessert, and as the nuts 
began to crack about the table as a merry accompani- 
ment to the popping of corks, the host observed: 


226 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


“ Now, ladies and gentlemen, I consider eet ze proper 
season for se grande explanation to begin, so zat oiir 
vaire good friend may know ze meaning of ze mystery 
in which he and his friend have been groping for some 
time past. Who s’all tell ze story ?” 

“ I deputize my friend Carroll Mandeville here,” 
interjected Livingstone, turning to the fair gentleman. 

“I should be most happy to comply,” responded the 
gentleman addressed, politely; “but in my opinion 
nobody can do it so satisfactorily as our friend Liv- 
ingstone himself. There are points which no one else 
but himself can know, notwithstanding we have been 
pretty faithful witnesses, rCest ci pas^ Monsieur Sor- 
rento ?” 

^'‘Certainment, monsieur p replied the Corsican. 

“ Very well ; here goes, then,” said Livingstone, with 
a sigh. “ To begin with, I will say that it is a very sad 
story for me, as well as some others. A little over a 
year ago, while studying in Paris, I met my two friends, 
Sorrento and Mandeville. During their sojourn in the 
French capital we were together a great deal. Late 
one afternoon, while walking along the Faubourg St. 
Germain, we chanced to meet this gentleman, Sydney 
Parkinson, and Miss Meredith. None of us knew them, 
and they evidently did not notice us. The reason was 
plain why the young gentleman did not see us, for his 
eyes were buried in the crystal depths of the eyes of 
the beautiful woman at his side ; but, as I say, we no- 
ticed him, and were all struck with the remarkable 
resemblance between him and myself. The resemblance 
was really phenomenal, but in the masquerade which 
followed I found it necessary to bring art into requisi- 
tion to supply the trifling shortcomings of nature in 
making us the exact image of each other, which ac- 
counts for the fact that our most intimate friends were 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


227 


deceived. But I anticipate. The conversation which 
grew out of our meeting this gentleman ultimately led 
to the assertion on my part that, by a few touches, I 
could render myself so exact an image of the other 
man as to enable me to deceive his best friends — not 
excepting the beautiful being at his side. 

“ This led to a spirited discussion, and ended in an 
offer on the part of my friend Sorrento here, who, true 
to his Corsican origin, would rather bet than eat any 
time, to wager a thousand pounds that I could do noth- 
ing of the kind. I did not accept the bet at once, and 
he grew excited, true to his Southern blood, and of- 
fered to increase it. The thing was absurd, for the 
reason that I hadn’t the money, and he knew it. Never- 
theless, he was bent upon making the bet for the sake 
of the curious and interesting experiment it would 
involve, and he offered to trust to my honor for the 
payment of the debt in the event of my losing, and, 
moreover, proffered to stand the expense which would 
necessarily attend such an experiment. The offer was 
so generous and the temptation to try to become the 
owner of five thousand dollars so great, I could not re- 
sist it, and the experiment was arranged for. [Living- 
stone, in his narration, refrained from alluding to the 
vendetta which had led him on.] 

“ Parkinson will tell you how I lived for a week on 
his credit at the Hotel Meurice, in Paris, (although it 
was afterward surreptitiously paid) while he was away 
in Germany. Here I learned all that was possible 
about the young man, his peculiarities, his antecedents, 
his prospects and intentions, and stored them up for 
future use. When I learned that he was about to re- 
turn from Baden-Baden, I quietly slipped out of the 
way while he took my place at the hotel, and I then 
joined the family of his fiancee at Baden-Baden. It 


228 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


was a desperate undertaking, and it required the 
subtlest maneuvering to avoid making a blunder which 
might betray me ; but I succeeded beyond my own 
hopes. I succeeded not only in palming myself off on 
the family as the real Sydney Parkinson, but also upon 
the young lady as her affianced husband. In this 
I made a few blunders which caused her to marvel, but 
I always had the excuse of a treacherous memory and 
abstraction in my studies to offer, and matters went on 
very well. As Mr. Meredith knows, I accompanied him 
and his family to Switzerland, and from there back to 
Paris, although up to this minute I have no doubt he 
imagined that it was the other man." 

“ Parkinson has already informed me of that fact," 
interposed Meredith. 

“ Well," resumed Livingstone, after a pause, “ after 
the family returned to America, I allowed the experi- 
ment to rest for nearly a year, being compelled to go 
on with my studies. After I had completed these, how- 
ever, I summoned my friends, we sailed for the United 
States, and the experiment was renewed. I found that 
Parkinson was in New York, and that he was about to 
wed the beautiful girl, so I determined upon my final 
and greatest stroke — to marry the girl (that is, pretend 
to), and — " 

‘‘You were not really married, then ?" interrupted 
Meredith. 

Livingstone hesitated, colored violently, and finally 
said : 

“ I shall explain that directly." 



CHAPTER XXVI. 

THE MYSTERY CLEARED UP. 

This evasion was far from satisfactory to the old 
gentleman, however, who said : 

“ I should prefer to know the truth at once, sir. It 
will relieve me of much anxiety.” 

“Very well, then, you shall know. The marriage 
was as valid as ever marriage was.” 

The old gentleman lapsed into silence again, and 
Livingstone resumed : 

“ I confess, sir, humbly confess, that I was guilty of 
deceit in the transaction, as your daughter, as well as 
yourself, believed me to be Parkinson. I regretted 
my action soon after, and determined to do all in my 
power to make amends, as I intend now to do. I should 
explain to you that I left a lot of papers open in my 
desk where she could not choose but see them, and I 
knew that she was not a woman if she did not avail 
herself of the opportunity of examining them, and I 
also knew that the moment she did examine them she 
would see that I was not Sydney Parkinson. I ex- 
pected then that she would accost me on my return, 
when it was my intention to tell her the whole 
truth, proffer her her release, and then restore her to 
you and her affianced. But her unexpected flight 
upset that part of the scheme.” 


[229] 


230 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


The father appeared to be satisfied with this, and 
the narrator resumed: 

“ I think that all concerned must say that I have 
acted honorably all the way through this strange busi- 
ness, and I certainly gave the young lady every oppor- 
tunity to see through my ruse. And, to do her credit, 
I must say that, although her eyes were deceived, her 
heart was not, for, from the moment I entered the 
dining-room of the inn out there in the country until 
she left me in the city, her heart told her to suspect me. 
As an illustration of the test I gave her, as we passed 
over the bridge I used my power as a ventriloquist to 
warn her against marrying me, and succeeded so well 
that she imagined she saw the man who spoke to her — 
but I assure you it was all the result of imagination. 
She came very near weakening then, but her brain 
kept up such an even race with her heart that she man- 
aged to struggle through. I gave her another test in 
the chapel, when, as a ventriloquist, I spoke from the 
walls, saying : ‘ I forbid the banns !’ but still her intel- 
ligence was allowed to conquer her feelings, and she 
allowed the ceremony to proceed. 

“ I will pass over the scene in the depot, where my 
friends came to her rescue and warned her not to go 
with me, and also of that on the train when my friends 
left the car when Mr. Meredith got to scrutinizing them 
too closely, only to disguise themselves and reenter it. 
My next best feat — if I may be allowed a little egotism 
— was when I slipped into the studio and out again, 
remaining long enough to do a little painting — " 

“ How, in the name of goodness, did you accomplish 
that ?” interrupted the old man, anxiously. 

Simply enough. While Parkinson was away in the 
country I had a key made to fit the lock, so that I 
could come and go at will. The huge padlock which 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


231 


he put on the door after his return frustrated my plans 
a little ; but the locksmith soon helped me out of that 
difficulty, and I succeeded in getting in a good many 
strokes during his absence.” 

“ What was your object in working on Parkinson’s 
picture ?” 

“I had two motives for that,” rejoined the artist, 
laughing. “ In the first place, while I knew him to be 
one of the best artists in the country, I believed that I 
could collaborate with him with sufficient merit to 
deceive the public in my work.” 

“ And you succeeded,” interposed Meredith, “ for he 
confessed that your work was not only equal to his 
but that you had imitated his peculiar method to per- 
fection.” 

“ Thanks,” said Livingstone, bowing. “ This is ex- 
ceedingly gratifying — coming from such an artist. But 
I must tell you my second reason for working on his 
picture. I knew he would be upset a good deal by the 
strange happenings, no less than the loss of the young 
lady, and I feared that he would not, under the cir- 
cumstances, be able to complete his picture against the 
opening of the Exposition, so there was a dash of 
charity in that part of my interference. This may seem 
strange in a man seeking revenge, but I am a queer dog.” 

Again the old gentleman reflected. At length he 
resumed : 

“ I noticed that the picture, which I saw in the draw- 
ing-room, bore your name. What are your intentions 
with regard to it ?” 

Bears my name !” echoed the artist in amazement. 
“You must be mistaken in that, sir. I have attached 
no signature to it, intending before the picture was 
hung — which is to be to-morrow — to have him sign it 
himself.” 


2S2 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


“ Nevertheless, the name ‘Bernard Livingstone’ is 
on the picture now, unless I am blind,” persisted the 
old gentleman. 

“ Impossible !” reiterated Livingstone. “ How could 
it have come there unless I put it on ? And 1 am quite 
sure that I have done nothing of the kind.” 

“ Nevertheless,” insisted Meredith, “ I say it is on 
there.” 

Livingstone was dumfounded. 

He did not like to contradict the other point blank, 
and yet he was quite positive that he was mistaken. At 
length he said, as with a sudden impulse : 

“ We shall soon settle that question. Let us all go 
up and see for ourselves.” 

“ I know nozzing about ze case,” interjected the Cor- 
sican, “but I should like to bet something on eet.” 

“Very well,” assented Livingstone, laughing. 
“ Which way do you wish to bet ?” 

“ Eef I bet according to my reason,” rejoined the 
host, “ I should bet zat ze name was not zare, but as I 
would razzaire bet wiz you zan wiz our friend, I wager 
feefty dollars zat ze name ees on ze picture.” 

“ Done !” cried the artist, laughing. “ Here is my 
hand.” 

A few moments later the party filed into the drawing- 
room, and all closed about the picture at once. Liv- 
ingstone, as the most eager, was the first to approach 
it, and as soon as his eyes fell upon the picture he stag- 
gered back with an exclamation of astonishment. 

“ By Jove !” he gasped. “ Here is mystery for you 
that exceeds everything of our inventing.” 

“ Eez eet, sare ?” cried the Corsican, pressing for- 
ward to look at it. Diablo he exclaimed, as he 
caught sight of the name. “ Zis ees ze work of ze 
wizzard !” 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


233 


“You may well say so/’ seconded Livingstone. 
“ Otherwise, how could it have got there ?” 

“Do you mean to tell me, seriously,” interjected 
Meredith, “ that you know nothing of this ?” 

“ No more than the dead,” affirmed the artist, with a 
very grave countenance. 

“You are sure it was not on there before you re- 
moved it from the studio ?” 

“ Perfectly. Indeed, I am sure it was not on there 
this afternoon when we looked at the picture. Eh, 
Sorrento ?” he questioned, appealing to the host. 

“ I am vaire sure of it,” replied the Corsican. “ Zat 
ees ze reason I say zat eef I should bet according to 
my reason, I should bet zat ze name was not zaire.” 

“ And you, Mandeville — you remember that there 
was no name on it when we inspected it this afternoon, 
do you not ?” 

“I would take my oath there was no name on it 
then,” answered the fair young man, earnestly. 

“This is very strange,” declared Livingstone. “I 
do not understand it. Can it be possible — But no. 
He w’ould never have put that name to it.’* 

“ Who ?” asked Sorrento. 

“ Parkinson. It occurred to me that he might have 
slipped in here, and attached that name for some pur- 
pose best known to himself. But when I come to 
think seriously of it, I know that it could not be.” 

“ Eef zere was a moteef — ” mused the Corsican. 

“ The motive which suggested itself to me,” inter- 
rupted Livingstone, “ that he might have put that name 
on — if such a thing were possible — thinking that I 
would overlook it until it was hung in the Academy, 
and then if he wished to make trouble about the matter, 
it would be a point in his favor to show that I had not 
only abstracted his picture but intended to steal it by 


234 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


attaching my own signature. But I recognize the im- 
possibility of his having been able to do such a thing, 
even if he were mean enough, which I do not believe.” 

“ No, eet would not be possible for heem to get in 
here wizout ze notice of ze servants,” remarked Sor- 
rento, thoughtfully. “ Besides, when could he have 
come? Certainment not since we saw heem at ze 
studio ?” 

“ I do not pretend to say when he did it,” put in 
Mandeville, who had refrained from offering a sugges- 
tion up to this time, “ but that he did it there can be 
no shadow of a doubt. Livingstone says he did not, 
and I believe him. There is nobody else about the 
place, or in town, for that matter, who could sign that 
name as it is signed except you two ; ergo, he must 
have done it.” 

“ 1 will question ze servants,” said Sorrento, with 
sudden energy, and off he put. 

But at the end of twenty minutes he returned with a 
look of disappointment, and informed his guests that 
nobody had called during the day, and therefore Park- 
inson could not have been there. 

Everybody had arrived at the conclusion that it was 
one of those insoluble mysteries which can only be 
left to chance, and had decided to speculate no further 
upon it, when Meredith was visited with a happy 
thought. His experience wdth the mysterious within 
the past two weeks had sharpened his wits in that 
direction, and he asked to be allowed to question the 
hall-boy. Curious to know what he proposed to elicit 
from that individual, the host called the hall-boy at 
once. 

“You say that nobody called here this afternoon 
after your master and his two friends went out ?” be- 
gan the old gentleman, in a perfunctory manner. 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


235 


No, sir, nobody called,” was the prompt reply. 

“ Now listen,” pursued Meredith. “ Do you remem- 
ber what time the three gentlemen left the house ?” 

“ About four,” returned the servant. 

“ And neither of them returned until they all came 
back together at the time at which I was with 
them ?” 

The boy pondered. 

“ Why, yes,” he rejoined suddenly, “ Mr. Livingstone 
returned, saying he had forgotten something.” 

“ I thought so !” exclaimed the old man, with a 
triumphant leer. “ I thought so !” 

But, you infernal scamp,” shouted Livingstone, 
angrily, “ I did nothing of the kind ! What do you 
mean by such an infamous lie ?” 

The boy turned pale and started for the door. 

“ Easy, my friend,” interposed Meredith, laying his 
hand gently upon the young man’s arm. “ The boy 
has not lied — exactly. What he has stated he believes 
to be the truth. When he told his master that no one 
had called, he believed himself to be telling the truth ; 
and when he stated that you had returned for some- 
thing which you claimed to have forgotten, he was 
equally honest in his belief. The fact is, as I conceive 
it, you did return — ” 

“ What ?” 

“ That is, in the person of your double. I am sur- 
prised that, having impersonated him so long, you 
should not have surmised at once that he had turned 
the tables on you for once.” 

“ By Jove !” gasped the artist. 

“What time was it when Mr. Livingstone came back, 
boy ?” questioned the old gentleman still further. 

“ A very few minutes before you all returned to- 
gether,” was the rejoinder. 


23G 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


“ Ah !’* ejaculated Meredith, with a sly wink. I guess 
that solves the problem.” 

In a measure,” admitted Livingstone, still with an 
unsatisfied expression. “ But what puzzles me is what 
his motive could be.” 

“ The very motive you yourself suggested awhile 
ago,” ventured Mandeville — “ for the purpose of getting 
you into trouble, by having your name on the picture 
when it is hung.” 

“ Then I shall obliterate it,” declared the artist, taking 
a determined stride toward the canvas. 

“ Don’t do it !” cried Mandeville, interposing himself 
between his friend and the picture. “ If he has signed 
the picture, you have no right to obliterate the signa- 
ture ; and if he attempts to make a fuss about it after 
the picture is in the Academy, we have witnesses 
enough to prove, circumstantially at least, that he 
signed it with his own hand.” 

So the signature was allowed to remain. 

The party then seated themselves to discuss their 
plans for the future. 

“You intend placing the picture in the Academy^ 
you say ?” began Meredith. 

“Yes, sir, to-morrow,” responded Livingstone. 

“ And enter it in his name, of course ?” 

“ Certainly.” 

“ You also said something about dividing with Park- 
inson the money which you won on the bet ?” 

“Yes, I propose to give him half, if he can be 
found.” 

“ But if he cannot be found ?” 

“ Then I shall give it to your daughter.” 

“ She does not need it,” protested the father. 

“ That makes no difference. She shall have it just 
the same. But I guess there will be no trouble in 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


237 


finding Parkinson. My opinion is that you will find 
him when you go home.” 

“ I do not believe it, because he told me, the last 
thing, that he did not feel as though he could face 
Florence again, and wanted me to tell her to marry 
you.” 

The following day Mr. Meredith started for home. 




CHAPTER XXVII. 

HOME AGAIN. 

The freight train which bore Florence and her 
friend reached its destination — i. e.^ Carter’s Station — 
some time between three and four in the morning, 
and the girls alighted from the caboose, and stood on 
the platform for a good while, waiting anxiously for 
the conductor. He was busy about his train, and did 
not put in an appearance for a long time, and the poor 
girls began to fear he had forgotten his promise to 
secure them a passage for the remainder of the 
journey. 

At length the headlight of the west-bound passen- 
ger was seen in the distance, and they abandoned 
hope. . But just at that moment the conductor of the 
freight came dashing up, out of breath, and said: 

“ By George ! I beg your pardon, young ladies. 
That was a slip. But I just made it in time.” 

And he had hardly ceased speaking when the train 
rolled into the station and came to a stop. The next 
instant the girls saw him in consultation with the pas- 
senger conductor, and saw the two men look in their 
direction. The girls watched the two men eagerly, 
[238] 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


230 


and were gratified at last to see the passenger con- 
ductor nod and smile, and then the freight conductor 
came darting toward them, and as soon as he was in 
speaking distance, he cried: 

“ It ’s all right, young ladies. Get right in this car, 
and he '11 give you a lift as far as you want to go. Good- 
by. You won’t forget to write? No money, though, 
remember.” 

“Good-by,” cried Florence, giving her hand. “You 
shall hear from me.” 

Fanny also shook his hand cordially, and the two 
girls got aboard just as the train started. 

The cushioned seat of the passenger coach was a de- 
cided improvement on the tiresome caboose, and the 
girls could not resist the lulling influence and soon 
dropped off to sleep. They slept so soundly that the 
remainder of the journey was passed in oblivion, and 
there is no telling how long they would have slept had 
not the conductor awakened them and informed them 
that they were to get off at the next station. 

It was a little after daylight when the train stopped 
at Jonesboro, and when Florence stepped on to the 
platform and looked about at the familiar objects sur- 
rounding her, in the light of the multitude of strange 
events that the past two weeks had crowded into her 
mind, she could not realize that only a little over two 
weeks had elapsed since she stood on that platform — a 
bride. 

“What now?” queried Fanny, anxiously. “Are we 
there ?” 

“ Not quite,” returned Florence, joyfully. “ But we 
soon will be.” 

“ Is it far from here ?” asked the other, in a faint 
voice. 

This caused Florence to look at her, which she had 


240 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


neglected to do for some time before, and she saw that 
the girl was very pale and looked faint. 

“Why, my dear,” she cried, “you are ill. Come into 
the station here and sit down. I shall go to a livery 
stable here, and hire a horse and buggy to take us 
home.” 

Fanny made no response until Florence had led her 
into the little waiting-room, and when she had been 
comfortably seated, she looked up anxiously and said : 

“But, Florence, you have no money, you remember. 
How are you going to hire a horse and buggy ?” 

Florence laughed heartily. 

“Why, my dear,” she replied, “we are in the coun- 
try now, and everybody knows me here. Wait just a 
little while, dear. I shall soon be back.” 

And away she tripped. 

Half an hour later she drove up to the station with a 
spirited horse attached to a light side-bar buggy. 

“ Hullo, Miss Meredith !” came a familiar voice. 

And, looking up, she beheld the broad, homely fea- 
tures of one of her neighboring farmer’s sons. 

“ Hello, Jim Higgins !” she saluted in return. “ Have 
you seen any of our folks lately ?” 

“Yaas, I was to the house this mornin’,” was the 
drawling reply. 

“ Is everybody well ?” she questioned, anxiously. 

“ Yaas,, they seemed to be, ’cept yer mammy. She ’s 
been ailin’ fer some time ; but there ’s nothin’ danger- 
ous, I reckon. She was powerful anxious 'bout yew 
an’ yer daddy, I hearn tell, though.” 

“My father?” cried Florence, perplexed. What 
about him ?” 

“W’y, you know he went away the next day arter 
yew did, and they haven’t never hearn from him but 
onct sence, an’ they don’t know what to think on ’t.” 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


241 


“ Where did he go ? Where was he when they heard 
from him ?” she questioned eagerly. 

Down to New York, I hearn tell.” 

Florence waited to ask no more questions, but said : 

“ Hold my horse a moment, Jim,” and she jumped 
out of the buggy. 

The young farmer stepped down and took the horse 
by the head, and Florence hurried into the station, got 
Fanny and led her out to the buggy, and they were soon 
on their way to Florence’s home. 

The familiar scenes along the road were not in the 
least changed, which seemed odd to her, for she could 
not divest herself of the idea that it had been months 
instead of a couple of weeks since she had passed over 
the road before. The autumnal foliage had turned a 
shade or two more russet or brown, and the trees had 
shed a few more of their crimson and yellow leaves, 
but that was all. But how every incident attending 
that last ride over this road crowded upon her now ! 
Especially vivid did the incident of the two horsemen 
following her and her friends appear before her, and 
filled her with a transitory feeling of dread, which im- 
pelled her to glance apprehensively about, as if she 
momentarily expected to see them ride out and start 
in pursuit of her again. Fanny noticed her nervous- 
ness and asked the cause. 

“Nothing,” she replied, regaining her presence of 
mind at the sound of her friend’s voice, and bursting 
forth in a wild peal of laughter that awoke the echoes. 

But even the sound of her own voice, duplicated and 
hurled back from the resounding depths of the forest, 
gave her a shiver, and she gave the horse a cut with 
the whip, which caused him to break into a mad 
gallop, and the gait was kept up until they reached the 
wayside inn. 


242 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


“ We 11 stop here and get breakfast,” remarked Flor- 
ence, as she drove up to the gate. “ It did not occur to 
me till just now that I was nearly starved. You must 
be famished yourself, dear.” 

“ I am a little hungry,” admitted her friend. 

“But how do you feel, dear?” questioned Florence, 
looking at her with concern. “ You were not feeling 
well when we left the station.” 

“Oh, I am much better now, thank you,” replied 
Fanny, with a faint smile. “ The ride has done me 
good.” 

“ Oh, I am so glad !” cried Florence, gleefully. “ In- 
deed, the ride has done you good. You have a good 
deal of color in your checks.” 

At this moment old John Burton, the fat landlord, 
reached the gate, and, after shading his eyes to see who 
the travellers were, and discovering, started back, 
opened his eyes very wide, and finally gasped : 

“Wal, bless my soul and body, if it ain’t the little 
lady — Florence ! Where, in the name o’ goodness, dew 
yew come frum, child ?” 

“New York,” replied Florence, impatiently. 

“But whar’s the husband?” he asked. “Nothin’ 
ain’t the matter, I hope ?” 

“No, nothing the matter,” she answered, still more 
impatiently. “ But do open the gate, Mr. Burton, and 
let us have some breakfast, for we are famished.” 

“ W’y, sartin !” he cried, with sudden energy, throw- 
ing open the gate and taking the horse by the bits. 
“Pardon me fer keepin’ 5 ^ 0 , but I was so upsot at seein’ 
ye back so soon, an’ that alone, thet I nigh fergot whar 
I was or thet I was a-livin’.” 

By this time he had led the horse inside the yard 
and lifted the two girls out of the buggy. 

The tall, lank hostler arrived by this time, and the 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


243 


horse given into his hands, after which the fat host 
followed the girls into the house, waddling and chat- 
tering away as he went. 

“I hearn t'other day thet yer daddy 'd went off 
somers, Florry,” he gossiped, “an' thet the folks hedn’t 
hearn frum him, an’ thet they was a good deal wor- 
ried 'bout him. Hev yew hearn anything 'bout it ?” 

“I only know that he came to New York,” replied 
Florence, wearily, “ and that, as he was only absent 
two weeks, he did not think it worth while to write. 
That is all there is to it.” 

And she hoped in her heart that she had guessed 
the truth, although the ventured assertion was far 
from quieting her own apprehensions. 

A strange thrill ran through her as she stepped into 
the dining-room some time later, and she glanced 
about instinctively, vaguely expecting to see the two 
strangers and, perhaps — him. But she saw only an 
empty room, and the lonesomeness of the place in- 
spired a sense of depression which precluded conver- 
sation. 

Fanny, who began to feel that her days of slavery 
were at an end, was much more cheerful, and strove 
hard to rally her friend, but with poor success. She 
knew nothing of Florence’s unhappy experiences of 
the past two weeks beyond the fact that she had been 
married and had found it impossible to live with her 
husband, and therefore could have no conception of 
the depth of her misery. 

When they were on the road again, however, either 
from genuine exuberance or sheer desperation, she 
appeared suddenly to recover her spirits, and then 
went to the other extreme and became almost hilarious 
in her joyfulness. Even while crossing Brothers 
Bridge, and she recalled the apparition which had 


Ui 


THil MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


frightened her so, and which had counseled her not to 
go to the chapel, she treated the thought with good- 
natured derision, and related the story to Fanny, which 
filled the girl with wonder and awe. 

“What do you suppose it was?” questioned Fanny, 
in great concern. 

“ I don’t know — some practical joker, maybe,” said 
Florence, with a light laugh. 

“ But it prophesied correctly,” ventured her friend. 
“ How do you account for that ?” 

“ I don’t pretend to account for it,” replied Florence, 
with a supercilious shrug and a derisive peal of laugh- 
ter, notwithstanding the question had caused a painful 
tug at her heartstrings. 

As they arose to the top of the hill and the road 
wound about a crag, she pointed at a little chapel 
which nestled away among the trees at some distance 
from the road, and said : 

“ There is where I was married,” and followed the 
remark with a ripple of laughter, although a better 
student of human nature could have seen that it cost 
her an effort, and that the playful shrug of her shoul- 
ders was a ruse to disguise the shudder that asserted 
itself at the sight of the chapel where she had been an 
unwilling bride. 

Fanny was silent and grave. She evidently viewed 
the matter in a more serious light. 

“ I should think it would make you feel sad to think 
of all this,” she ventured at last, in a tremulous voice. 
“ I know it would me.” 

“ Why should I be sad ?” querried Florence, gayly. 

“ Why, the thought that you expected such happi- 
ness and were disappointed.” 

“ On the other hand,” argued Florence, “ the thought 
that I discovered my mistake in time to save myself a 


THE MEREHITH marriage. 


245 


life of misery, should make me exceedingly happy. 
Don’t you think so ?” 

“ Perhaps — if you are sure that you could not be 
happy with him. But that is what I cannot under- 
stand. If you loved him once, I don’t see why you 
shouldn’t always love him.” 

“That is because you are not philosophical, my 
dear,” returned Florence, growing suddenly grave. 
“ Suppose you saw a jewel in a shop window and it 
dazzled and attracted you. You admired it the more 
you looked at it, and finally made up your mind to 
purchase it. Then, when you got it home, you would 
discover that it was only a cheap paste thing. Would 
you still admire and value it ? Or would you throw it 
away ?” 

“I should probably throw it away,” replied Fanny, 
quietly, “ but it is different with husbands.” 

“Yes, I know it is, somewhat. It is not so easy to 
throw them away after you have once got them. It is, 
therefore, better to throw them away beforehand, if 
possible.” 

“ But you waited till you were married,” ventured 
Fanny. 

“ Surely, but that was because I did not gain courage 
enough before.” 

Fanny reflected some time, and then said: 

“ Do you know what I think, Florence?” 

“ It would be hard to surmise,” laughed her friend. 

“I think that your husband will come back and 
you will learn to love him and be happy with him 
yet.” 

“ What a foolish dear you are !’* laughed Florence. 

What makes you think that !'* 

“ I don’t know. It is a sort of premonition.” 

Premonitions go for nothing in this practical world, 


246 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


I am inclined to think. Papa, who is a physician, says 
they are the result of a condition of the stomach.” 

“But they are sometimes fulfilled.” 

“ Undoubtedly. That is, by some inexplicable coin- 
cidence, things happen as we have thought they might. 
But in many cases prophesy is the result of circum- 
stances which, we cannot help seeing, ought, in the 
nature of things, to lead up to certain results. If, for 
instance, a friend’s health is such as to lead us to fear 
that he will not survive a certain period, and our minds 
are somewhat clouded by the contemplation, and per- 
haps a bad digestion adds to our despondency, we are 
apt to have a premonition, as you call it, and the 
chances are largely in favor of its fulfillment.” 

“ But I hope it will not turn out so in this case,” 
interjected Fanny, timidly, “ for it would make me very 
happy.” 

“ Bless your dear, kind heart !” cried Florence, rap- 
turously, putting her arm about her. “ And if it will 
add to your happiness, I wish so, too.” 

Early in the afternoon they reached the farm, where 
they were received with open arms, Fanny no less than 
Florence, when the latter told her mother that Fanny 
was her dear friend. 




CHAPTER XXVIII. 

COMPARING NOTES. 

Florence’s mother was not only glad but astonished 
to see her back again, and nothing would do but Flor- 
ence must sit down by her bedside and relate her strange 
experience from beginning to end, which she did, not 
in the spirit of one who has suffered and is rehearsing 
the tale of her own woes, but rather like one who is 
telling the experiences of another. 

Her mother listened attentively and without once 
raising her voice to interrupt or interpose a question ; 
but at the conclusion she had the appearance of one 
who has been listening to a bit of the wildest fiction 
rather than to sober facts. 

‘‘ This is most wonderful, Florry !” she exclaimed at 
last. “ If it had all been told me by anybody else, I 
could not have believed it. But, dear, don’t you think 
that you might have been mistaken? Do 5^011 not 
think, after all, that you might have learned to love 
Sydney ? You know how passionately you were at- 
tached to him while we were in Europe, especially 
when we were in Switzerland. And I know that your 
father and I imagined he had grown more gentle and 
a great deal brighter after he rejoined us at Baden- 
Baden. I remember your father saying that certain 

[247] 



248 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


matters upon which he had acknowledged total igno- 
rance when we first met him he appeared to be perfectly 
familiar with afterward.” 

“Yes, I noticed that, mamma,” answered Florence, 
“and that was one of the reasons for my losing interest 
in him. He seemed to forget the most important things 
about which he had talked. Really, I have almost come 
to believe sometimes that there were two of them. But, 
to answer your first question, mamma, I could not be 
mistaken in my feelings. One cannot help one’s likes 
and dislikes, you know, and I know you would not ex- 
pect me to live with a man whom I could not help but 
detest and loathe with every atom of my being.” 

“ Certainly not, my dear ; but it is a dreadful blight 
on your young life to be disappointed in that way.” 

“ Oh, do not worry, mamma,” answered Florence, 
lightly. “ I don’t mind it half as much as I would have 
supposed I should, and I have no doubt I shall soon 
forget all about it.” 

“ No, indeed, you will not, my dear. You may not 
think much of it now, but in after years, even if you 
should love another and marry, the recollection of this 
romantic first love will come to you amidst your trou- 
bles and joys, and your heart will ache ; for you cannot 
deny that this was a very sweet, romantic love affair. 
You seemed so well adapted for each other, and were 
so happy in each other’s society, that it made me very 
happy to see you. Ah me ! It is a dreadful calamity.” 

And her mother covered her face and wept. 

“ Don’t take on so, mamma, dear,” Florence implored. 
“ It may all come out well in the end ; and if it does 
not, 1 know I shall not be so very unhappy.” 

Later, they came to talk of Florence’s father, and to 
speculate as to what had become of him. 

“ He has only written once,” observed the mother, 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


240 


‘•and he did not mention a word abo-ut there being 
any trouble ; and yet he must have known something 
about it, or he would not have gone on without saying 
anything to anybody.” 

“ He might have been called to the city on some 
other business, mightn’t he ?” suggested Florence. 

“I can think of nothing which could have been of 
sufficient importance and secrecy to call him off like 
that.” 

Later in the afternoon Mr. Meredith put all specu- 
lation at an end by arriving at home. 

He was overjoyed to see his daughter safe at home, 
after all his worry in attempting to find her. 

“You little minx !” he cried, hysterically, after the 
first ecstasy of his joy had subsided somewhat, wiping 
the tears from his eyes. “ I was on your track, but 
before I could run you to ground you would skip off 
somewhere else.” 

“Was that what took you to the city, papa?” asked 
his daughter. 

“Certainly, my dear. What else could have taken 
me?” 

“ Didn’t I tell you, Florry ?” interposed the mother. 

“ But how did you learn about the separation ?” in- 
quired Florence, anxiously. “ Did he tell you ?” 

“ Who ?” 

“ Sydney.” 

“ My dear, he knew no more about it than I did. As 
a matter of fact, neither of us knew anything about it 
until last night.” 

didn’t know anything about it?” ejaculated 
Florence, with a bewildered countenance. 

“Certainly not. How could he ?” 

“Didn’t he go back to the house after I left ?” ques- 
tioned the girl, still waxing in bewilderment. 


250 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


To her and her mother’s astonishment, he burst out 
laughing- at this question. 

‘‘ My dear,” Mr. Meredith said at length, “let me set 
you right before you ask any more questions. First of 
all let me tell you that there are two men instead of 
one that we have had to deal with. The name of one 
is Sydney Parkinson ; that is the one you were be- 
trothed to. The other is Bernard Livingstone ; that is 
the one you married.” 

“ Did I not tell you, mamma ?” uttered Florence, 
triumphantly. 

“ Yes,” pursued her father. “ I told myself the mo- 
ment I had discovered the trick that your heart had 
told you the truth, although your eyes had deceived 
you.” 

“ When did you first discover it ?” asked Florence. 

“Two minutes after you had departed on the train. 
The incoming train from the East brought Parkinson. 
Then it was that I discovered that we had been de- 
ceived by another man who resembled Parkinson, and 
he and 1 took the next train back to the city.” 

The old gentleman then proceeded to relate in detail 
all the circumstances attending the search for Florence 
and the picture. When he came to that part where he 
went to her boarding-house, he said ; 

“ That is a remarkably kind old lady with whom you 
happened to stop, Florry, and I was glad to be able to 
pay her well for the trouble and expense she had been 
to on your account.” 

Florence gasped. 

“ Trouble — and — expense — on my account ?” she fal- 
tered, at last. “ Why, she never went to any trouble 
or expense for which she was not well paid.” 

“ But your board, my dear,” interposed her father. 
“ Of course you didn’t pay that ? How could you ?” 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


251 


“Of course I did — more than paid her,” ejaculated 
she. “You do not mean to say that she told you I 
owed her anything, papa ?” 

“ She certainly did, and I paid her thirty-two dol- 
lars.” 

Florence arose, and stepping to the window, called 
Fanny, who was sitting on the porch. 

“ Fanny,” she said, as soon as her friend had entered 
the room, “ what do you think that Mrs. McQuade has 
done ? She told papa that I hadn’t paid my board, and 
had him pay it again, the mean old thing !” 

“ I am not surprised at that,” returned Fanny, smil- 
ing faintly. “ She is capable of almost anything.” 

As she spoke, Fanny eyed the old gentleman closely, 
flushed, and then excusing herself, left the room. She 
appeared not to recognize him at the time she was 
introduced to him.. As soon as she had left the room, 
Mr. Meredith said : 

“ Is that the woman who was with you at the board- 
ing-house, my dear ?” 

“ Yes, papa, and a dear good girl she is,” returned 
Florence. 

“ I have seen her before,” resumed her father. 

“ Seen Fanny before ?” exclaimed Florence, in sur- 
prise. “ Where, papa ?” 

Her father related the circumstance of meeting what 
he and Sydney Parkinson supposed to be a crazy 
woman, and concluded by saying: 

“ I am positive it is the same woman.” 

“I have no doubt of it,” returned his daughter. 
“ She told me about meeting him — at least a man who 
had wronged her. But the man’s name was Living- 
stone, so it must have been the same man to whom I 
was married.” 

“ It was a fortunate escape you made, then, dear,” 


252 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


interjected the mother. “ The fellow must be a heart- 
less scamp.” 

“ I am sorry to learn this,” mused the father, deject- 
edly, “for from what I have learned and seen of 
Bernard Livingstone within the last twenty-four hours, 
I had come to the conclusion that he was the better 
man of the two. Indeed, Parkinson declared as much 
himself, and requested me to tell you to reconcile your- 
self to Livingstone, as he did not feel that he could 
ever face you again. And, in spite of this circum- 
stance, admitting it to be true, I would rather see you 
married to Livingstone to-day than Parkinson.” 

“Why, papa ?” asked Florence, curiously. 

“ He is the manlier of the two,” answered her father, 
firmly. “ During all the time we were searching for 
you — at least, that I was searching for you — he did not 
appear to take the least interest in the matter, and did 
not seem to care whether you were found or not. I do 
not think I ever met a more unmanly man in my life, 
and I should regret, now that I know what he is, to 
have you marry him.” 

“ And yet you could not expect me to live with the 
man to whom 1 am married, papa, after marrying me 
under false pretense ?” 

“ He confesses to having committed a great wrong 
in that affair, but is very penitent and willing to do 
anything to make amends, even to offering you your 
freedom. It was his intention to undeceive you and 
ask forgiveness, and no doubt would have done so had 
you not run away.” 

“ Why did he not do it before he left ?” cried the 
girl, spitefully. 

“ He left his desk full of his papers open for you to 
find out that he was not Parkinson,” interrupted her 
father, “ and it was his intention to confess everything 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


253 


when he returned. But you did not give him a chance, 
which, by the way, was just as well, probably.” 

Florence colored a little as she said, a little later : 

“ He does seem to be a very honorable man.” 

“ Honorable man ?” ejaculated the father. “A more 
honorable gentleman never lived ! Why, do you know 
what he intended to do ? You must know that he won 
five thousand dollars on the experiment of passing him- 
self off for Parkinson. Well, he proposes to give half 
of it to you and Sydney — in case the latter can be found 
— to go to housekeeping on.” 

“ In case he can be found ?” echoed Florence. 

“Yes, he disappeared as soon as he discovered the 
ruse, and we have not been able to trace him since. But, 
speaking of Livingstone, do you remember we liked 
him — that is, the man (we thought it the same then) 
who went to Switzerland with us, better than the one 
we first met in Paris ?” 

“That is just what mamma was saying before you 
returned,” said Florence, blushing. “ I know I thought 
he was ever so much nicer.” 

“ Why, he knew as much as two of Parkinson,” de- 
clared Meredith. “ I shall not insist upon your living 
with him, my dear, but I shall look into this other affair 
of his. Of course, if I find that he has really wronged 
this girl, he shall never set a foot in my house ; but, 
from what I have seen of him, I do not hesitate to say 
that I do not believe a word of it. There is some 
mistake somewhere.” 

“ Might not the other man have deceived her ?” ven- 
tured the mother. 

“You are right, my dear,” returned Meredith, catch- 
ing at the idea. “ Indeed, I think it the most likely.” 

“ But the name, papa ?” interposed Florence. 

“ Name, fiddlesticks !” scouted her father. “ Isn’t it 


254 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


easy enough for people of his character to take one 
name as well as another ? For aught we know, Syd- 
ney Parkinson is an assumed name.” 

When the two girls went to their rooms that night, 
Fanny stopped in Florence’s room to talk a while be- 
fore retiring. 

“ How do you feel, dear ?” asked Florence, taking 
her in her arms and kissing her. 

“Oh, so well !” murmured Fanny. “You are all so 
good to me, and everything is so fresh and bright here, 
that I know I shall be very happy — at least, I hope 
so!” 

“ There is no reason why you shouldn’t be,” asserted 
Florence, tenderly. 

Fanny was silent a moment, and then said : 

“ There may be something come up, you know — ” 
And then she paused and bent her eyes on the floor. 

“What, dear?” urged Florence, earnestly. “What 
could come up ?” 

“ I hope nothing, but — but — your father — ” 

“ I understand,” interrupted Florence. “ You recog- 
nize him as the man who was with Livingstone, don’t 
you ?” 

Fanny looked at her in surprise. 

“ Has he already recognized me ?” she asked, in a 
frightened voice. 

“Yes, we have been talking about it.” 

“Then I cannot stay here,” cried Fanny, hiding her 
face and beginning to sob. 

“ Why not, dear ?” pleaded Florence. 

“From the way I spoke to Livingstone, he will con- 
clude that I have not been a good girl, and he will 
drive me from the house.” 

“ He will do nothing of the kind, my dear. He will 
undoubtedly seek the truth, and when he finds that 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


255 


you are blameless, he will think the more kindly of 
you for having- suffered.” 

Fanny sobbed in silence for some time, but at length 
raised her head, and asked: 

“ Do you really think he will not believe me capable 
of doing wrong ?” 

“lam sure of it, my dear. You can depend upon 
him to believe nothing but the truth and to act justly.” 

“Then I have no fear.” 

That night Florence wrote a letter to the old switch- 
man, and enclosed a good-sized bank-note 





CHAPTER XXIX. 

PEACEFUL MOMENTS. 

Matters at the quiet homestead went on in theirusual 
humdrum fashion for the next few weeks without any 
material change. Everybody appeared to be contented, 
and, at Florence’s request, they had ceased to speak of 
her little love-episode, and she, to all appearances, had 
entirely forgotten the affair. She and Fanny spent the 
greater part of the time in the fields or woods, hunting 
the few remaining autumn flowers, picking berries or 
simply loitering and enjoying the sunshine and each 
other’s company. 

It was a happy deliverance for poor Fanny. She was 
as one just released from prison, scarcely knowing what 
to do with her liberty. And yet she was somewhat 
jealous of her time, too, especially that to be spent out 
of doors. She seemed to fear that her probation would 
soon draw to a close, and she would be compelled to 
return to the cell again. She could not wait for the 
dew to get off the grass in the morning before she was 
out, if the weather was fine ; and as she would stroll 
away across the fields, sometimes with Florence, some- 
times alone, a sweet, rapt expression would light up her 
sad face, her soul would swell with gladness and she 
[256] 



THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


257 


would seem to drink in, with delicious satisfaction, every 
sight, sound and balmy odor of glorious nature. 

“ Oh, it is so good to be here !” she would say at times. 
And her voice would have that reverential softness that 
we are apt to assume when speaking of sacred things. 
“ There is but one thing wanting to render my exist- 
ence an ideal one," she once said. 

“ What is that, dear ?" asked Florence. 

“ The complete forgetfulness that there was ever 
any other phase of my life, and of the apprehension 
that this may not last." 

“ Why cannot you forget these things, dear ?” pleaded 
her friend. “ There is no reason to think that it will 
not always last. I am sure that you will never go with 
my consent, and papa and mamma are too much devoted 
to you to think of letting you go." 

“ I know all that, Florence, dear," she sighed. “You 
are all very kind — too kind, in fact. It is more than I 
deserve ; but something tells me that I am not to remain 
here for long." 

“ One of your old, gloomy premonitions," laughed 
Florence. “ I was in hopes that you had forgotten 
them by this time." 

“ I strive to forget them, but they will force them- 
selves on me in spite of my efforts to dispel them. I 
fear that I was never made to be entirely happy." 

As Florence had said, her father and mother had 
taken a decided fancy to the gentle-spirited girl, and 
treated her with all the consideration of a daughter. 

Mr. Meredith had never relinqui.shed his idea of in- 
vestigating the girl’s case, and about two weeks after 
his return from New York he made another trip thither 
for that purpose. On the eve of his departure, how- 
ever, Florence received a newspaper containing an 
account of the exhibition of new pictures at the Acad- 


258 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGR. 


emy of Art, together with a list of the pictures which 
had taken first prizes, according to their class, and she 
saw that the one which headed the list was painted by 
Bernard Livingstone. 

Her cheek burned with anger when she saw this, 
for, after what her father had told her about the mys- 
terious name on the picture, she concluded at once that 
Livingstone had actually stolen the other man’s work 
and usurped the honor. And "^vhen she showed it to 
her father, he was no less chagrined. 

“ I am astonished at this,” he muttered, angrily. “ It 
is a great disappointment to me, after the exalted es- 
timate I had put upon that man. But there can no 
longer be any doubt about it, he is a scoundrel. I am 
now ready to believe anything of him, and shall be 
mistaken if I do not find that he was guilty of Fanny’s 
disappointment. The effrontery of the rascal, to mark 
the copy and send it to us !” 

A letter had come for Florence in the same mail, and 
as soon as they were done discussing the subject of the 
newspaper article she tore the letter open. The hand- 
writing was familiar to her, and she thought at once 
that it was from Sydney Parkinson, but before reading 
it she looked at the signature and saw that it was that 
of Bernard Livingstone. It ran as follows : 

Studio Building, — University Place, 

New York, October lo, i8 — . 

“ My Dear Miss Meredith (for it will doubtless be pleas- 
anter for you to be called by that name) : You will doubtless be 
surprised to receive this letter — at least with this signature, and 
also to see by the accompanying newspaper that my picture, 
which, I am proud to say, has won first prize, was signed by the 
same name. But your chief surprise will be to leaiU from me 
that the sigjiature is my own^ and the only one which I have any 
right to sign. Let me explain : 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


250 


‘‘Twenty-odd years ago, iny father and his brother (who were 
twins and resembled each other as closely as my cousin — the 
man whom you have known as Bernard Livingstone — and my- 
self) were deadly enemies, and sought every opportunity to injure 
each other. One day they met on the bridge known as Brothers 
Bridge, and fought, the result of which was that my uncle was 
killed and my father only escaped with his life. The feeling in 
the neighborhood was so bitter against my father that as soon as 
he recovered from his injuries he moved out of the neighborhood, 
and to escape the odium of the name which had become notori- 
ous through the long-continued vendetta, he changed his name 
from Livingstone to Parkinson. My uncle’s eldest son and I, 
who was my father’s eldest son, were exactly the same age and 
bore the same Christian name. But the strangest thing about it 
was that we were as much alike in appearance as our fathers had 
been. 

“I was but five years old when my father moved out of the 
country and settled in New York city, and my cousin and I never 
met, so far as either of us know, until the day when he and his 
friends met you and myself in the Faubourg St. Germain, Paris. 
Unfortunately for me, I did not see him then, but he saw me, 
and then it was that the ‘ experiment,’ as he calls it, commenced, 
which has caused so much trouble to both you and myself. After 
I met him and found what a noble, honorable man he is, and 
that he was not afraid to wear the name by which he had been 
baptized, I determined to emulate his courage and resume my 
rightful name. Ashamed of the want of courage I had displayed 
in not using greater effort to find you when you had run away 
from him, I had determined to release you from any vows by 
which you might consider yourself bound to me, and in my des- 
peration I slipped into the house to which my picture had been 
taken and signed the name ‘ Bernard Livingstone ’ to the picture, 
considering that no matter in whose name the picture was en- 
tered at the Academy, my own rightful signature would attest 
that I was the author of it. But now that I have achieved a name, 
and a modest fortune by my effort, I feel that I can conscientiously 
offer you both, and plead for the position in your affection? I 
believe I once held. 


260 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


naming the day when I may come and see you, you will 
render forever happy, 

‘‘Your own, “Bernard Livinsgtone, 

“ Formerly known as 

“ Sydney Parkinson.” 

When she had finished reading the letter Florence 
took it to her father. The old gentleman took the let- 
ter, adjusted his glasses and read it over carefully, and 
at its conclusion heaved a great sigh. 

“ Well !” he exclaimed. “ I wonder if we are ever 
to get at the end of this mystery ?” 

“What do you think, papa?” questioned Florence, 
watching his face curiously. 

“ What do I think ?” he cried, brusquely. “ I 
think that the fellow is a mountebank of the first 
water.” 

“ What makes you think so ?” she queried, curi- 
ously. 

“The fact that he hadn’t the courage to come out 
like a man and tell me the truth in the first place, for 
one thing ; and, for another, the fact that he has taken 
all the credit for the picture on himself, when, as a 
matter of fact, the other man is responsible for the best 
part ; in fact, the only part of it that has made it fa- 
mous. The picture wouldn’t have taken fourth place, if 
it had received passing notice, except for the one por- 
trait, the one of yourself, my dear, which Livingstone 
put into it. Another thing, he has, in all probability, 
accepted the twenty-five hundred dollars which the 
other man intended for the two of you.” 

“What would you advise with regard to answering 
his letter ?” she next asked. 

“ I would advise that you pay no attention to it,” he 
retorted, bluntly. “ What right has he to write to an- 
other man’s wife ? His letter is an insult !” 


THE MEREDITH MARRIADE. 


2G1 


“ And Mr. Livingstone — I mean the other Mr. 
Livingstone — what would you advise with regard to 
him ?” 

Her father pondered a moment. 

“ Oh, well,” he finally said, in a gentler tone, “ we 
shall see about him. To tell you the truth, I am more 
and more impressed with him by everything I see or 
hear of him, and I am very anxious to find out more 
about him. If he turns out to be what I am convinced 
he is — well, we shall see, my dear. For the present 
reserve your affections and let matters rest till I come 
back.” 

And thus the matter ended for the time being. 

Mr. Meredith made his trip to New York, not for- 
getting to take the pawn-checks for Florence’s jewelry, 
in order to be able to redeem them when he should 
reach the city. 

In three days he returned, flushed with triumph. 
Calling Florence to one side, he commenced: 

“ My dear, my trip has been a complete success. 
Livingstone has convinced me that he is not the man 
who deceived Fanny, by proving that he had not been 
in New York for five years until a month before he 
came out here. Not only that, I have made inquiries 
and discovered that he bears the most unblemished 
reputation, both here and abroad^ He turned the 
twenty-five hundred dollars over to Parkinson on his 
assurance that you had agreed to marry him on being 
released, which, as you are aware, was an infamous 
lie, and shows the fellow to be an unprincipled rogue, 
unworthy of any respectable woman’s notice. And, 
lastly, here is your jewelry,” he went on, handing her 
a package. “And here is a ring which I did not get 
from the pawnbroker,” he pursued, giving her the 
ring which she had given to the Italian boy. 


262 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


“Where in the world did you get that?” she ex- 
claimed, opening her eyes very wide. 

“ From the boy to whom you gave it,” he smiled. 
“ You did not expect to see that again, did you, my 
dear ?” 

“ Never, But how came you to run across it ?” 

“ My dear, it was through that ring that I discovered 
where you had been stopping.” 

He then went on to relate the incident of his meeting 
with the boy, of his absently giving the boy the money, 
of the boy showing him the ring, and of its ultimately 
leading to the discovery of Mrs. McQuade’s boarding- 
house. 

“ And I called upon the old wretch !” he concluded. 

“And made her refund the money?” questioned 
Florence. 

“ No, I allowed her to keep the money, as she pleaded 
poverty, and all that sort of thing ; but I had the satis- 
faction of telling her what I thought of people who 
transacted business in the manner she did.” 

“I supposed she was crushed, wasn’t she?” laughed 
Florence. 

“ Not a bit of it.” 

“ She was, at least, very angry ?” 

. “ On the contrary, she invited me to stop to dinner,” 
rejoined the old pan brusquely. “You might as well 
butt your head against a stone wall and expect to 
make an impression as to attempt to phase that 
woman. She ’s like one of those topsy-turvy pictures 
the children have — turn her over as often as you 
please, and there will always be a head uppermost.” 

There was an interval of silence, and then Florence 
asked, without looking up from the embroidery upon 
which she was at work: 

“ Did you see Sydney while you were there, papa ?” 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


263 


“ No,” he returned, shortly. “ I called two or three 
times at the studio, but he always managed, either 
accidentally or by design, to be out. But I was not 
over-desirous of seeing him, except to give him a piece 
of my mind.” 

Another month passed, and there was no news from 
either of the young men, and their names were rarely 
spoken in the homestead. The weather had begun to 
grow crisp and even chilly upon occasion ; neverthe- 
less, Fanny insisted upon taking her usual strolls, and 
if Florence would not accompany her she went alone. 
About this time her friends began to notice alarming 
symptoms in the poor girl. What had at first been 
mistaken for the return of health’s bloom to her cheeks, 
developed into what was unmistakably the warning 
harbinger of consumption — the hectic flush. This 
caused her friends the greatest alarm, and, without 
notifying her of their sad discovery, they called in the 
family physician and had him prescribe for her. It 
was also agreed that she should be taken to a drier 
.atmosphere before the winter set in. 

Whether the girl suspected the nature of her malady 
or not, she never complained, and kept up a degree of 
cheerfulness that was surprising. And she would insist 
on taking her daily ramble, in spite of the protestations 
of her friends. 

One day she and Florence had strayed a long way 
from the house to a piece of woods, along which, and 
bordering the road, ran an old fence. The fence was 
completely hidden from view by briars and creeping 
vines. Among the latter were numerous clematis vines, 
and the girls were busy gathering these for the purpose 
of decorating their rooms. Fanny had strayed away 
some distance from Florence in the direction of the 
homestead, when Florence was suddenly startled by 


264 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


the sound of a horse’s hoofs on the highway, and on 
looking up from her occupation, was surprised to 
behold Sydney Parkinson within a few feet of her. 

He had reined up, and was sitting on his horse, look- 
ing at her and smiling. There was not a shadow of a 
doubt about its being he, and the girl instinctively re- 
coiled from him, whereupon he spoke. 

“You are not afraid of me, are you. Miss Florence ?” 
he said, in a low, gentle voice. 

“ What brings you here ?” she demanded, regaining 
her self-possession and courage at the same time. 

“ To see you, of course,” he answered in the same 
calm, dispassionate tone. “You ignored my letter, 
which should have taught me, I suppose, that your love 
for me had died ; but I was emboldened by my own 
devotion to come unbidden. Am I not welcome ?” 

“ No !” she retorted, firmly. “ I do not want to see 
you any more !” 

“ What, may I ask, is the cause of this sudden and 
unaccountable change in you ?” 

To this question she offered no response, and he con- 
tinued : 

“ I hope that you have not become infatuated with 
the man who had no more regard for your good name 
or feelings than to subject you to a disgraceful mock 
marriage for the purpose of winning a bet. If that is 
the case — ” 

“ I do not wish to discuss that matter at all,” inter- 
rupted Florence, almost fiercely. “ I have not become 
infatuated with him, if that is any satisfaction to you ; 
but so far as subjecting me to a mock marriage is con- 
cerned — if that were true, which it is not — for the pur- 
pose of winning a bet, it was no worse than your ac- 
cepting half the money which he won thereby, nor as 
* bad.” 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


265 


He was about to reply, when the rustle of dry leaves 
caused Florence to look round ; and he, following the 
direction of her gaze, was heard to utter a peculiar 
groan, and the involuntary exclamation : 

“Fanny !” 

“Yes, we meet again, Bernard Livingstone,” re- 
sponded Fanny, quietly. “ I am sorry to have intruded 
upon your tHe-a-tete^ but it is probably just as well to 
let this innocent girl know who and what you are be- 
fore she is contaminated by your leprous touch !” 



V 



CHAPTER XXX. 

REST AT LAST. 

Florence stole a look at Parkinson’s face, expecting” 
to see it blanched or crestfallen at the very least ; but, 
to her surprise, there was no indication of any emotion 
or mental perturbation of any kind. On the contrary, 
it was as placid as an autumn sky, and, with the excep- 
tion of a vague sarcastic smile about the mouth and a. 
slight quizzical glint in the eyes, innocent of any sort 
of expression whatever. 

He seemed on the point of making some sort of retort 
to Fanny’s words, but suddenly changed his mind, 
wheeled his horse, lifted his hat chivalrously, and said : 

“ Well, ladies, as I do not appear to be exuberantly 
welcome here, I shall bid you a very good day.” 

And burying his spurs in the horse’s flanks, dashed 
away. 

Fanny watched the retreating figure as long as it was 
in sight, and then trailing herself weari4y to Florence’s 
side, put her arms about her neck and burst into tears. 
She uttered no word, but for a long time continued to 
weep as if her heart were breaking. Florence strove 
in vain to comfort her. 

[266] 


tHE MEREDITH MARRlAGfi. 267 

‘‘ Don’t cry, dear,” she implored. “ He is not worth 
a single tear. You should be glad to get rid of him.” 

“ Not if you loved him as I do,” sobbed Fanny. “ He 
is the only man I ever loved, and the only one who 
ever professed to love me. And he is so handsome !” 

This last observation was so discordant with the rest 
of her remarks that Florence could hardly suppress a 
smile, but she preserved her gravity with an effort and 
continued to soothe the poor, heart-broken girl. In 
time Fanny grew calm, and at length said, in a tone of 
grave philosophy : 

“ I guess you are right, Florence ; it will be better 
to forget him entirely, and I shall strive hard to do so ; 
but I hope he will not let me see him again. The sight 
of his face calls up such memories that I cannot en- 
dure it.” 

And then, after a thoughtful silence : 

“ It is so strange that it should have been the same 
man. I can understand now the cause of your agita- 
tion when I mentioned his name once while we were 
in the boarding-house. But how brave you were not 
to break down, and how good of you not to feel any 
bitterness toward me for loving the same man.” 

Florence laughed, although if Fanny had been less 
ingenuous she might have detected just the slightest 
shade of bitterness in her friend’s laughter. 

“ It did not require much of a struggle,” said she. 
“ There were two excellent reasons why I should not 
feel any bitterness toward you. First, I did not love 
him deeply enough to preclude the possibility of throw- 
ing it off as I might a superfluous garment ; and, sec- 
ond, I felt too kindly toward you.” 

“ Oh, you are so good, Florence !” cried Fanny in the 
fullness of her heart, embracing her friend again. “ I 
know I could never have had a sister with half your 


m 


TtlE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


tenderness. You always succeed in quieting the ache 
in my heart, as no one else could do.” 

After Sydney Parkinson (as we must continue to 
know him) left the two girls on the highway, he dashed 
on with unabated speed in the direction of the Brothers 
Bridge, as though intent upon some vital object. If 
those who had witnessed his calm, unimpassioned 
countenance during his brief interview with the young 
ladies could have seen it now it would have caused 
them some surprise. The vague smile of derision had 
melted from his mouth, and the quizzical glint had 
died out of his dark eyes, and in their stead was a 
malicious scowl and a sinister twinkle in the cruel 
eyes. His lips were tightly compressed, his brows 
were bent and the lines of his face drawn into the most 
ferocious aspect, while, as he galloped along, looking 
neither to the right nor to the left, a muttered impre- 
cation escaped his lips ever and anon ; and, altogether, 
it was evident that a dreadful hatred and longing for 
vengeance was rankling in his heart. 

Thus he continued until the ten miles or so inter- 
vening between the homestead and Brothers Bridge 
were covered, and he reined in his steed and descended 
the long hill at a gentle canter ; and, strange to say, 
with the slackening of his gait his features relaxed to 
such a degree that his expression was almost gentle 
as he neared the approach to the bridge. Perhaps the 
recollection of pleasing reminiscences was the occasion 
of this, or, possibly, his anger had burned itself out by 
this time, and he had suddenly resolved not to carry 
out his scheme of vengeance after all. Howbeit, his 
expression had so changed, and his face had assumed 
so sweet a smile, that had poor Fanny seen it then her 
heart would have ached more cruelly then ever. 

But as his horse's hoofs struck the bridge, and Park- 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


2G9 


inson glanced carelessly toward the opposite end, his 
countenance lowered with a cloud of ten-fold blacker 
malignance than it had worn before. This was super- 
induced by the appearance of another horseman, and 
that other horseman was none other than Bernard 
Livingstone ! 

His first impulse upon seeing his cousin was to stop 
or perhaps turn back, but upon second thought he 
spurred his horse and pushed on. Livingstone, mean- 
while, had apparently not noticed his approach. He 
rode leisurely, his eyes slowly sweeping the magnifi- 
cent landscape, while his face wore the gracious seren- 
ity of a man who is at peace with all the world. He 
did not turn his eyes in the direction of his cousin until 
they were within a horse’s length of each other, and 
even then it is likely that his attention was called to 
him by his suddenly reining up and wheeling his horse 
in Livingstone’s course, so that he could not choose 
but stop. As he glanced about quickly and caught 
sight of the scowling visage before him, Livingstone 
recoiled and shuddered involuntarily. Then, before 
he had time to consider anything, came the cold, blood- 
curdling words : 

“ Bernard Livingstone, prepare to fight !” 

“ Why, cousin, what do you mean ?” faltered the 
other, turning deadly pale. “ I don’t understand — ” 

“Prepare to fight!” was the reiterated command. 
“ If you are unarmed, take this 1” 

And before the astonished man was aware of the 
other’s intent, Parkinson had thrust a long knife into 
his hand and wheeled his horse away. 

Livingstone glanced timidly at the blade he held in 
his hand and shuddered, for he recognized it as one of 
the two bowie-knives with which their fathers had 
fought to the death more than twenty years before. 


270 the MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 

But brief as was his contemplation of the dreadful 
weapon, it was disturbed the next instant hy the vbice 
of his cousin^ who had riddfen to some distance bffj 
sayitig i 

“ Remember, it was iny fathef who won before. Look 
out for yourself 1” 

And before he had time for another thought, Parkin- 
son spurred his horse and came dashing down upon 
him with the velocity of the wind. 

Livingstone had no time to prepare for defense, and 
only escaped the murderous knife, as the other swept 
by, by throwing himself down upon the pommel of his 
saddle. By the time he recovered himself and sat 
erect again Parkinson had nearly reached the other ap- 
proach of the bridge, and wheeled his horse prepara- 
tory to another dash. 

“ Coward !” he hissed. “ If you will not defend your- 
self, die like the cur that you are !” 

With that he buried the rowels of his spurs in his 
horse’s flanks and came dashing on again ; but he did 
not find Livingstone unprepared this time. The in- 
sult, no less than the realization that his cousin was 
bent upon taking his life, aroused him to a spirit of re- 
sistance, and wheeling his horse about, he raised his 
dagger and nerved his arm for the attack. 

On came his antagonist. The two men were again 
abreast. The knives clashed and locked. The two 
men glared at each other, and there was murder in 
their eyes. Then ensued a terrible struggle. The 
weapons were locked in such a way that neither could 
withdraw his without breaking the other’s grip, and 
each realized that his life depended upon preventing 
this. For some moments the struggle seemed about 
evenly balanced. There was not a shade of difference 
in the strength of the two men, and one was equally 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


271 


brave with the other. But at length something oc- 
curred to change the status of affairs. Parkinson’s 
horse, which was exceedingly spirited, kept prancing 
about so that it was difficult to hold him in position 
with one hand, and the animal finally lost patience, 
gave a sudden rear and plunge, not only breaking the 
lock of the men, but nearly unseating his rider. This 
heightened the rage of Parkinson, and as soon as he 
could control his horse sufficiently, he wheeled him and 
made a mad, random plunge at his antagonist. The 
latter was wholly unprepared for it, but managed dex- 
terously to parry the thrust by a hair’s-breadth. 

This was all he intended to do, and his knife, as it 
was aimed, would have passed Parkinson’s body and 
left it unscathed, but in the very nick of time the lat- 
ter’s horse plunged in such a way as to hurl his rider 
almost upon the pommel of Livingstone’s saddle, thus 
bringing him within range of the descending blade, 
and it was buried to the hilt in Parkinson’s breast.- 

The man reeled from his saddle and fell to the ground, 
to all appearances lifeless. 

Shocked, terrified at what he had done, Livingstone 
ventured one hasty glance at the unfortunate man on 
the ground, and then put spurs to his horse and rode 
back with all speed to the wayside inn and reported 
what had happened. Ten minutes later old John, all 
of his help, and several loungers who happened to be 
about the place, surrounded the wounded man on the 
bridge, and he was carried to the inn. A doctor was 
called in, but it was soon apparent that Sydney Park- 
inson was beyond human aid. He recovered conscious- 
ness once for a few minutes only. He opened his eyes 
and stared dreamily about the room where he lay, al- 
lowing his eyes to rest for an instant upon each face 
that came within their range, until at last they rested 


272 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


Upon the face of Bernard Livingstone. They stopped 
there for nearly a minute, gazing earnestly, inquiring- 
ly, half doubtfully, and at length the man beckoned 
feebly for Livingstone to approach the bedside. He 
did so, with bowed head and sorrowful countenance, 
when the stricken man put out his hand and in a feeble, 
almost inarticulate voice said : 

“ Take my hand, cousin, and say that I am forgiven. 
You have killed me, but it was all my fault. You did 
it in self-defense, and I deserved it all. I forgive you, 
as I hope you will forgive me.” 

Livingstone took the hand, and as the man ceased 
speaking, sank upon his knees at the bedside and man- 
ifested the depth of his grief in silent weeping more 
eloquently than words could have portrayed it. After 
a little time the dying man spoke again, still more 
feebly this time : 

“ I have been a villain and a weak fool all my life, 
and I never committed a more villainous or foolish act 
than in attempting to kill you, my cousin, my friend, 
and the noblest, bravest man I ever met. I have not 
long to live, Bernard, and I have one request to make 
before I die. It is that you marry Florence. She loves 
you, I am sure ; and I want you to tell her that my 
dying request was that she should become your wife. 
The money you gave me, together with what I received 
for the picture, is here in my pocket. I had intended 
to take it to her, but she spurned me, as I deserved, so 
I want you to take it for yourself — and her.” 

He ceased speaking, closed his eyes wearily, and a 
few moments later, when the doctor examined the 
man’s pulse, it had ceased beating. Sydney Parkin- 
son, or Bernard Livingstone, had passed away. He had 
died in ignorance of the fact that Florence and Bernard 
were married. 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


273 


“ Hit was bound to be thet way,” murmured old John, 
a little later. Hit was in the blood. His daddy killed 
t’ other boy’s daddy, his own brother, an’ left the pizen 
in his son’s veins. Hit couldn’t ’a’ bin no other way. 
But I do hope an’ trust thet the feud ’s washed out now 
forever.” 

When Bernard delivered his message to Florence 
the following day, she was deeply affected as well as 
shocked ; but when she had been assured by the many 
witnesses acquainted with the facts that no blame could 
be attached to Bernard, she became reconciled and 
even cheerful. 

The next afternoon the family, and that of the old 
landlord and a few other friends, followed the dead 
man’s remains to the little cemetery attached to the 
little chapel where Florence and Livingstone were 
married, but the only real mourner was the poor, 
heart-broken Fanny. Th poore creature could not have 
been more profoundly stricken if the man over whom 
she wept had acted the part of a noble and generous 
friend instead of that of a base deceiver. 

‘‘No matter what his faults were,” she sobbed, “he 
was the only man who ever told me that he loved me, 
and he was the only man whom I ever loved, and my 
heart is buried with him.” 

As Bernard and Florence rode back from the cem- 
etery together he asked, taking her hand in his own: 

“What have you to say, Florence, with regard to 
Sydney’s dying request ?” 

She was silent and averted her face. 

“ Mind,” he quickly pursued, “ I do not wish that you 
should feel yourself bound or even influenced by a dy- 
ing man’s words. I only alluded to them by way of 
introducing a subject which has been burning at my 
heart ever since the day we met in Baden-Baden and I 


274 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


laid siege to your affections in a false character. That 
I have loved you devotedly from that moment I scarce- 
ly need tell you now. And I do not believe that I 
deserve the charge of egotism when I assume that my 
conduct was a little more than ordinarily honorable in 
refusing to avail myself of the advantage which cir- 
cumstances had given me over both your dear self and 
my rival. You manifested a want of love for me after 
our marriage, and you may still feel that way. If you 
do, and consider that my conduct has been anything 
else but honorable, say so at once, and, while I love 
you, adore you, as no man ever adored a woman, I 
believe I can still act the part of honor to the extent 
of going away and never troubling you again.”, 

Florence looked up with an expression of mingled 
tenderness and apprehension. 

“ I almost ought to tell you to go,” she whispered, 
softly. “You have been awfully wicked.” 

“ I confessthat I have, dear,” he pleaded. “ But will 
you not give me a chance to atone ? I am willing to 
do anything within the range of reason to convince you 
how thoroughly repentant I am, and how devotedly I 
love you. Only say what you wish me to do, and I am 
at your command.” 

Florence was silent and looked out of the carriage 
window. 

“ Why didn’t you give me your right name ?” she 
murmured. 

“ Because I was a bad boy, for one thing ; and for 
another, and principally, because my love for my little 
Florence was so strong that I was willing to do anything 
to win her, even resort to deception.” 

“You didn’t marry me just to win the wager, then ?” 

This was uttered in a demure, tentative little voice, 
but it sent an arrow hurtling to Livingstone’s heart. 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 2'7o 

‘‘As God is my witness, I did not, dear,” he uttered 
in a broken voiee. “If I had, the marriage would have 
been a mock one, as was first intended. Realizing that 
such an act would cast a shadow upon your pure name, 
my heart would not permit me to carry out the devilish 
scheme, although, God knows, no harm was intended 
to your sweet self. The plan was simply to go through 
the ceremony of the mock-marriage, and then detain 
you at the inn till Parkinson’s arrival, when the ruse 
would be explained, and you and he could have pro- 
ceeded to the altar in earnest ; but at the last moment, 
when you refused to avail yourself of the offer of re- 
lease, my love, my devotion — perhaps I ought to say 
my selfishness — got the better of me, and I allowed 
the ceremony to go on in good faith. It was my love 
and my selfishness, darling. Is there forgiveness in my 
little wife’s heart ?” 

Florence sighed heavily. 

“ If you had only told me that night on the way to 
New York,*’ she faltered, “ I could have forgiven you 
so easily. But — ” 

“ But you cannot now ?” he interrupted. 

“ I didn’t say that, exactly,” she caught up, quickly, 
“but — we are married, aren’t we?” she suddenly 
broke off. 

“ Yes, love, in the eyes of God and of the law, we are 
man and wife, notwithstanding I gave the parson the 
wrong name.” 

She hesitated a moment, colored a good deal, and 
ventured, timidly : 

“ But it doesn’t seem as if we were married, and I am 
going to impose the cruelest sort of a penance on you.” 

“ What is it, dear ?” he gasped, eagerly. “ It cannot 
be too sevisre, so that it bring absolution in the end.” 

“ I want you to go away and not come back till the 


27G 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


day before Christmas. Write to me every day, and I 
shall write to you every day ; but I do not want to see 
you till then. Then on the day before Christmas you 
may come, and on Christmas Eve we will be married, 
truly, truly, truly !” 

“ It is a bargain, love !” he cried, rapturously, grasp 
ing her hand. “Thank Heaven, I am forgiven !” 

Some inexplicable impulse at that moment seemed 
to take possession of Florence — an impulse which 
rendered her powerless to control her passion — and she 
threw herself into his arms, buried her face in his 
bosom and began to sob. 

“I do love you!” she cried, passionately. “Oh, I 
do love you with all liiy heart !” 

The succeeding instant she seemed to realize that 
she had acted with undue forwardness, and attempted 
to withdraw herself from her position, but it was too 
late. Bernard had taken her in his strong arms and 
held her there, and had turned her face, crimson and 
burning with mingled passion and shamej up to his 
own, and was showering kisses upon the unprotected 
pink lips. 

Nobody could have been happier, in spite of her own 
heartache, than was poor Fanny, when Florence con- 
fided to her the secret of her reconciliation to Bernard, 
that night in the sacred privacy of their own room. 

But the poor girl’s grief was too deep to be assuaged 
more than temporarily, and she began to droop from 
the moment she saw Parkinson laid beneath the sod. 
She became an easy prey to the merciless disease 
which had already taken possession of her, and she was 
soon confined to her room. It was a severe trial to her 
to be deprived of the sunshine, and even when the 
winter had come on she would sit at her window and 
look out with hungry eyes and a longing heart upon 


THE MEREDITH MARRIAGE. 


277 


the snowy landscape, and would plead so piteously to 
be taken forth that her friends were often prone to 
yield to her persuasion, in the face of the doctor’s in- 
junctions. 

By Christmas time she had gfrown too weak to leave 
her bed, and yet when Florence was married, on Christ- 
mas Eve, the poor girl insisted upon being carried down 
into the old-fashioned parlor, where she was propped 
up long enough to witness the ceremony. She seemed 
delighted with the simple decorations, and smiled sadly 
when Florence kissed her after the ceremony. 

“ Oh, I am so happy !” she whispered, between rack- 
ing fits of coughing. “ It was the one thing in my poor 
life that I wished to see before I died. Now I can die 
contented.” 

And two days later her mission was fulfilled, and the 
poor, tired spirit went to its rest at last, and she was 
laid beside the man she had loved so blindly and fool- 
ishly. 


THE END. 


Yet She Loved Him, 


By Mrs. Kate Vaughn, 


— and 


Jephthah’s Daugfhter, 

By Julia Magruder, 

Author of Magnificent Plebeian fi ^‘At Anchor fi 
^Monored in the Breachfi etc. 


With lllusti’ations by Warren B. Davis. 


12]no. 330 Paeres. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


*^Yet She Loved Him” is a popular and sensational story 
of English life. It has many elements of interest, and will 
please all readers to whom a good story is the principal thing 
in a novel. Miss Magruder’s novelette, Jephthah’s Daughter,” 
which is appended, is of a distinctly higher character. It is 
based upon the Biblical narrative, and is written in a style 
peculiarly appropriate to the subject, and full of beauty. The 
story is a brilliant piece of work. Nothing which Miss Magruder 
has written exhibits greater literary ability or more sustained 
power. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York, 


A Novel by Fanny Lewald. 


The Mask of Beauty. 

AFTER THE GERMAN OF 

Fanny Lewald, 

BY 

Mary M. Pleasants. 

With Illustrations by F. A, Carter. 

12mo. 340 Pagres. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


Fanny Lewald is one of the most celebrated writers of Ger- 
many. Her books have enjoyed great popularity, but few of them 
have been translated into English. This is a story of Hela, a 
peninsula jutting out into the Baltic Sea, of which Dantzig is the 
principal town. The maid of Hela is a poor orphan, whose rare 
beauty is the cause of her many trials. She is bred in a fishing 
village among a superstitious people, full of curiosity, and isolated 
from her neighbors by reason of her parentage and religion. The 
story is a minute and realistic study of character, manners and 
customs of an out-of-the-way corner of the world. The extra- 
ordinary beauty of the girl Catherine, whose life history is nar- 
rated, is made the cause of every important situation and the 
final tragedy of the novel. Nothing can be finer than the patient 
and loving art with which the author has developed her subject, 
and exhibited beauty as the mask of a pure and beautiful soul 
unconscious of the dangerous possession. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

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A New Novel by the Author of “ In the China 5ea.” 


Two Gentlemen 

of Hawaii 


BY 

Seward W. Hopkins, 

Author of “ 7 ;^ the China Sea^' etc. 

With Illustrations by M. Colin, 

12mo. 244 Pagres. Handsomely Bottnd in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

Paper Cover, 60 Cents. 


This novel deals with the revolution in the Hawaiian Islands. 
It takes the part of the revolutionists. It gives a complete 
account of the exciting events, beginning with the deposition of 
Queen Liliuokalani, the institution of the provisional government 
under President Dole and the offer of the islands to the United 
States. It is a thrilling picture of a period of intrigue, danger 
and revolutionary violence. Most of the characters are Ameri- 
cans concerned in the revolution, and the story is written from 
the point of view of a partisan who believes that the peace and 
prosperity of the islands are bound up with the new movement. 
It is a lively and interesting tale, full of sensation, with a vivid 
picture of the scenery and life of the islands and of the fatal 
malady with which the natives are afflicted. The terrors of lep- 
rosy are described. The superstitions of the Islanders and the 
volcanic eruptions on the Island of Lanai form a tragic back- 
ground to the story. At the present time, when public attention 
is engaged by the events transpiring in these islands, this novel 
has an especial attractiveness. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

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A Story of the French Revolution. 


The Shadow of 

the Guillotine. 

BY 

Sylvanus Cobb, Jr., 

Author of “ The Gunmaker of Moscow^' “ The 
Outcast of Milan^' ^''Blanche of 
Burgundy^' etc.^ etc. 

With Illustrations by Warren B. Davis. 

12mo. 429 Pagres. Handsomely Boimd in Cloth. Price, $100. 

Paper Cover, 60 Cents. 


This is an interesting and thrilling novel. Like all of Mr. 
Cobb’s works, it is interesting as a story from the beginning, 
dealing with historical scenes and events of one of the most ex- 
citing epochs of modern times. The French Revolution was the 
first great outbreak of the people against hereditary power and 
privilege. The ideas of liberty and equality and government by 
the people, which were its active principle, were obscured and 
caricatured in the sanguinary tumult and riot into which the 
movement degenerated under the leadership of Robespierre and 
his companions. Through this tempest of fire and blood Mr. 
Cobb takes his readers, and fastens their attention while portray- 
ing the charming and manly characters whose story he tells. The 
thousands who have read “ The Gunmaker of Moscow ” will en- 
joy this novel. 

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Story of a French Millionaire. 


Mystery of Hotel Brichet. 


AFTER THE FRENCH OF 

Eugene Chavette. 


With Illustrations by James Fagan* 


12mo. 866 Fafires. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Pricey $1.00. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


This is a French novel the scene of which is Paris of the last 
century. The great robber Cartouche on his trial betrays his 
associates, and it is through one implicated by his testimony that 
the author introduces the history of the House of Brichet. Truth 
is said to be stranger than fiction, but the story of the galley- 
slave who escapes from Toulon to figure as the possessor of mil- 
lions in the capital of France will compare favorably with anything 
that ever happened in the world of reality. It is seldom that a 
novel filled with exciting incidents is so entirely consistent from 
beginning to end and which gainsdn interest as the plot develops. 
'Wie novel has something of the spirit and “go” of Alexander 
Dumas’s famous guardsman series, the most amusing character 
being a guardsman, a swordsman and a duelist. 

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on receipt of price by the publishers, 

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An Historical Novel, 


Blanche of Burgundy. 


BY 

Sylvanus Cobb, Jr., 

Author of The Gunmaker of Moscow f etc* 


With Illustrations by H, M. Eaton. 


12mo. 419 Pagres. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


“Blanche of Burgundy” is a novel based upon incidents and 
scenes of a most interesting period of French history. It is the 
time of Charles the Ninth. The realm is divided into twelve great 
baronies or fiefs, the heads of which are princes almost independ- 
ent, owing military service and tribute to their sovereign. Charles 
has departed from France on the great mission of the Crusaders 
to rescue Palestine from the Moslem. The Duke of Burgundy, 
father of Blanche, is about to embark with his army for Egypt to 
join the king, but, before doing so, he awaits the marriage of his 
daughter, the beautiful Blanche, to Gregory of Tranche Comte. 
The latter proves a difficult subject, and the complications which 
ensue make a highly interesting novel. 

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A Fresh German Translation. 


THE OPPOSITE HOUSE. 

AFTER THE GERMAN OF 

Nataly von Eschstruth, 

Author of A priestess of Comedy” ''A Prin- 
cess of the Staged ^'‘Her Little Highness” 

“ Countess DynarP etc,^ etc. 

With Illustrations by H. M. Eaton. 

12mo. 282 Pag-es. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

Paper Cover, 60 Cents. 


Nataly von Eschstruth’s latest novel is a romantic love story, 
full of interesting situations, diversity of character and thrilling 
episodes, all subsidiary to a well-constructed and carefully devel- 
oped plot. The heroine is a lovely countess of proud and an- 
cient family. The hero of the story is a manufacturer and 
belongs to the trading class, which in Germany is distinctly 
below the nobility. He throws up his business and takes an 
active part in the Franco-German War, and on the field of battle 
shows that there is quite as much nobility in the Prince of the 
Mill as in the titular princes of the court. We withhold the cli- 
max of the story, not wishing to dull the appetite and enjoyment 
of the reader. This forms one of the best volumes in the 
Ledger Library series of German translations. 

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Mrs. Barr’s New Novel. 


The Flower of Gala Water. 

BY 

Amelia E. Barr, 

Author of'' Girls of a Feathery' " The Bow of 
Orange RibboUy' " Friend Oliviay' " The 
Beads of Tasmery' " The Mate of the 
' Easter Belly ” “ AFs. Barr s 

Short Stories y' etc,y etc. 

With Ulustratioiis by Charles Kendrick. 

12mo. 400 Pag-es. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Uniform with 

“Qirla of a Peather.” Price, $1.25. Paper Cover, 60 Cents. 


“ The Flower of Gala Water ” is one of Mrs. Barr’s most de- 
lightful novels of Scottish life and scenery. In her portrayal 
of Scotch character and manners she has no superior among 
contemporary writers. Her heroines are vital with love and fem- 
inine qualities, and possess an individuality which is charming. 
They have the freshness of youth and health, and impart to her 
pages their own attractiveness. Mrs. Barr’s fine sentiment and 
vigor of conviction have ample expression in her latest novel. 
No one can read it without having every noble feeling vitalized 
and exalted. It is this moral quality which renders The Flower 
of Gala Water ” a book to be placed in the hands of every boy 
and every girl. 

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Heimburg’s Wew Novel. 


FOR ANOTHER’S WRONG 


AFTER THE GERMAN OF 

W. Helmburg, 

Author of Miss Mischief^' ''An Insignificant 
Woman^' etc.^ etc, 

AUTHORIZED TRANSLATION 

BY 

A. W. AYER and H. T. SLATE. 

With Illustrations by James Fagan. 

12mo. 368 Pa^es. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.25. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


Heimburg’s new novel is an intensely interesting love story. 
It is based on the sentiments and emotions which fill so large a 
place in the lives of women, and, therefore, appeals strongly to 
their sympathies. In reading of these imaginary lovers many 
will find parallel experiences in their own lives. The story has 
a romantic plot, and the incidents are calculated to enhance the 
interest. This is one of Heimburg’s best novels. 

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on receipt of price by the publishers, 

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A New Story by the Author of “ Two Gentlemen 
of Hawaii.” 


On a False Charg*e. 


BY 

Seward W. Hopkins, 

A tit hoi" of ^^Two Gentlemen of Hawaiiy' '‘'In 
the China Sea” etc.y etc. 


With Illustrations by H. M. !lj]aton. 


12mo. 340 Pa^es. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


On a False Charge” is an exciting story of the great strike 
in the Pennsylvania coal mines, setting forth thrilling scenes and 
incidents and showing how the mining population are often the 
victims of unscrupulous and grasping agents. The facts of this 
story are true to life, and the scenes portrayed are taken directly 
from nature. I'he romantic interest which centers in the heroine 
is unsurpassed in any recent American work of fiction. Mr. Hop- 
kins has a lively and entertaining style, and his book is one that 
will please every reader of his former novels. 

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on receipt of price by the publishers, 

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A Novel of Strange Adventures. 


A Treasure Found== 

A Bride Won 


BY 

George E. Gardner. 


With Illustrations hy Warren B. Bavis. 


12mo. 407 Pag-es. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


This novel is a record of adventure in the Eastern seas, full of 
strange incidents and dangers, exciting profound interest. There 
is good descriptive work in the story, and it well repays perusal 
for the pictures of the life and scenery of the ocean. There is a 
story in it which grips attention at the start, and never relaxes its 
hold upon the reader until the end. The author has made good 
in this work his right to be numbered among the popular authors 
who introduce us to new and captivating fields of action. The 
world is becoming so narrow and well-travelled that our best 
writers enlarge its borders by the aid of imagination, and this 
faculty is the secret of their charm. 

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THE CHOICE SERIES 


No. AND Title. 

1— A Mad Betrothal 

2— Henry M. Stanley 

3— Her lloiible JLile 

4— Unknown 

5— The <»uninaker of Moscow.. . 

G— Maud Morton 

7 — The Hidden Hand 

8— Sundered Hearts 

9— The Stone-Cutter of Lisbon.. 

10— JLady Kildare 

LI— Cris Rock 

L2— Nearest and Dearest 

L3— The Bailiff’s Scheme 

14 — A Leap in the Dark 

L5— The Old Life’s Shadows 

LG— The Lost Lady of Lone 

L 7— lone 

L8— For Woman’s Love 

L9— Cesar Birotteau 

20— The Baroness Blank 

21— Parted by Fate 

22— The Forsaken Inn 

23— Otti ie Aster’s Silence 

14 — Edda’s Birthright 

25 — The Alchemist 

26— Under Oath 

27— Cousin Pons 

28— The Unloved Wife 

19— Lilith 

50— Reunited 

51 — Mrs. Harold Stagg 

52— The Breach of Custom 

53— The Northern Light 

54— Beryl’s Hnsband 

55— A Love Match 

56— A Matter of Millions 

57— Eugenie Grandet 

58— The Imnrovisatore 

59— raoli, the Warrior Bishop... 

LO— Under a Cloud 

:1— W'ife and Woman 

:2— An li’signiflcaiit Woman 

=3- The Carletons 

4— llademoiselle Desroches 

:5— The Beads of Tasmer 

:6— John Winthrop’s Defeat 

:7— Little Heather-Blossom 

:8 — flloria - 

i9— David Lintlsay 

10— The Little Countess 

11— The Chautanqiians 

12— The Two Husbands 

13— 3Irs. Barr’s Short Stories 

4 — \ye Parted at the Altar 

'5— ^fas She W4fe or Widows... 

16— The Country Doctor 

'7 — Florabcl’s Lover 

'8- Lida Campbell 

9— Edith Trevor’s Secret 

10— (Lecil Rosse 

11— Love is Lord of All 

12— True Daughter of Hartenstein 

13— Zina’s Awaking 

14— Jlorris Julian’s Wife 

5— Dear Elsie 

6— The Hungarian Girl 

7 — Beatrix Rohan 

8— A Son of Old Harry 

9— Romance of Troiiville 

0— Life of General .lackson 

1— The Return of the O’Mahony. 

2— Reuben Foreman, the Village 

3— Neva’s Three Lovers 

4— “Em”..=^. 

5— “Em’s” Husband 


Autiiok. 

Laura Jean Lihbey .. 

Henry Frederick Keddall 

Mrs. Harriet Lewis 

Mrs. E. D. K. N. ttouthworth 

Sylvanus Cohl), Jr 

Major A. R. Calhoun 

Mrs. E. D. E. N. bouth worth 

Mrs. Harriet Lewis 

Prof. Wm. Henry Peck 

Mrs. Harriet Lewis 

Captain Mayne Reid 

Mrs. E. D. E. N. South worth 

Mrs. Harriet Lewis 

Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth 

Mrs. Harriet Lewis 

Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth 

Laura Jean Lihhey. 

Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth 

Honore De Balzac 

August Niemann 

Laura Jean Lihhey 

Anna Katharine Green 

Mrs. D. M. Lowrey 

Mrs. Harriet Lewis 

HouoreDe Balzac 

Jean Kate Ludlum 

Honore De Balzac 

Mrs. E. D. E. .N. Southworth 

ti a it 

A Popular Southern Author 

Robert Grant 

Mrs. D. M. Lowrey. (Translator).. 

E. Werner 

]Mrs. Harriet Lewis 

Sylvanus Cohh, Jr 

Anna Katharine Green 

Honore De Balzac 

Hans Christian Andersen 

W. C. Kitchin 

Jean Kate Ludlum 

Mary J. Safiford 

W. Heimhurg 

Robert Grant 

Andre Theuriet .., 

Mrs. Amelia E. Barr 

J ean Kate Ludlum 

]\Iary J. Safford. (Translator) 

Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth 

it tt ti 

S. E. Boggs. (Translator) 

John Hahherton 

Mrs. Harriet Lewis 

Mrs. Amelia E. Barr 

l.aura Jean Lihhey 

IMalcolm Bell 

Honore De Balzac 

1 .aura J ean Lihhey 

Jean Kate Ludlum 

Mrs. Harriet Lewis 

tt it 

From the German 

ti tt 

]\rrs. J. Kent Spender 

Elizabeth Olmis 

From the German 

it it 

Mrs. Harriet Lewis 

Albion W. Tourgee 

Brehat 

Oliver Dyer 

Harold Frederic 

Blacksmith. Darley Dale 

Mrs. Harriet Lewis 

Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth 


Cd>th 


$1 00 

60 (Its 

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THE CHOICE SERIES==Continued 


No. AND Title. 


Author 


76— The Haunted Husband 

77— The .Siberian'Exiles 

78— The Hpauish Treasure 

79— The Hin^ of Honey Island 

80— Mate of the “Easter Bell”.. 

81— The Child of the Parish 

82— Miss Mischief. 

83— The Honor of a Heart 

84— Traiis^ressiiiff the l.aw 

85— Hearts and Coronets 

86— Tressilian Court 

87— fxiiy Tressiliaii’s Fate 

88— Mynheer Joe 

89— The Froler Case 

90— A Priestess of Comedy 

91— All or Nothing 

92— A .'"Skeleton in the Closet 

93— Bra.; ••on Coyle’s \\ ife 

94— fiove' 

95— The Tell-Tale Watch 

96— Hetty i or the Old (*rndKe 

97— (iirls of a Feather 

98— Apimssioiiata 

99— Only a Cirl's Heart 

100— The Itejected Bride...'. 

101— fiertriide Haddon 

102— Countess Byiiar, or Polish Blood. 

103— A Sleep- Walker 

104— .A Lover From Across the Sea and 

105— A Princess of the Stage 

106— Countess Obeniau 

107 — The Hnii- Bearer 

108— Wooing a Widow 

109— Her Little Highness 

110— In the China Sea 

111— Invisible Hands 

112— Yet She Loved Him 

113— The Hlask of Beauty 

114— Two flentleineu of Hawaii.. 

115— The Shadow of the Guillotine 

116— Mystery of Hotel Brichet 

117— Blanche of Burgundy 

118— The Opposite House 

119— The Flower of Gala Water.. 

120— For Another’s Wrong 

121— On a False Charge 

1‘’2— A Treasure Found— A Bride Won 

123— The House by the River... . 

124— At a Great Cost 


Mrs. Harriet Lewi.s - 

Col. Thomas W. Knox 

Elizabeth C. Winter 

Maurice Thompson 

Mrs. Amelia E. Barr 

Marie von Ebner-Eschenbach — 

W. Heimburg 

From the German 

Capt. Frederick Whittaker 

Jane (4. Fuller 

Mrs. Harriet Lewis 

it ii 

fcit. George Rathbome 

From the French by H. O. Cooke. 

Latalyvon Eschstruth 

Count Nepomuk Czap.ski 

Mrs. E. 1). E. X. Southworth 

ti it it 

HonoreDe Balzac 

From the German 

J. H. Connelly 

Mrs. Amelia E. Barr 

Elsa D’E.sterre-Keeling 

Mrs. E. D. E. X. fcsouth worth 

it it it 

it it a 

Xalaly von Eschstruth.. 

Paul II. Gerrard 

Other Stories. E. Werner 

Xataly von Eschstruth 

Julien Gordou 

E. A. Robinson and G. A. Wall... 

Ewald August Koenig 

Xataly von Eschstruth 

Seward W. Hopkins 

F. von Zobeltitz 

Mrs. Kate Vaughn 

Fanny Lewald 

Seward V/. Hopkins 

Sylvanus Cobb, Jr 

Eugene Chavette 

Sylvanus Cobb, Jr 

Xataly von Eschstruth 

Mrs. Amelia E. Barr 

W. Heimburg 

Seward W. Hopkins 

, George E. Gardner 

Barbara Kent 

Elhe Adelaide Rowlands 


Cloth 

Pape 

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Every Number Beautifully Illustrated. 


ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Publ^ers, 6 6 0 

Cor. William and Spruce Sts., New York City. 


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